THE FADED FACE

How was this I did not see

Such a look as here was shown

Ere its womanhood had blown

Past its first felicity? -

That I did not know you young,

Faded Face,

Know you young!

Why did Time so ill bestead

That I heard no voice of yours

Hail from out the curved contours

Of those lips when rosy red;

Weeted not the songs they sung,

Faded Face,

Songs they sung!

By these blanchings, blooms of old,

And the relics of your voice -

Leavings rare of rich and choice

From your early tone and mould -

Let me mourn,— aye, sorrow-wrung,

Faded Face,

Sorrow-wrung!