Beauty's Blemish

You are as young, O lady mine, As ere you were in olden days, Your lips are red, your blue eyes shine, And still you have your girlish ways. I hate to think what years have flown Since first I praised these things, mine own. Your frocks still have that youthful cut, Garbing a svelte form, slim and flat. You should be spreading, darling but Your middle-age has brought no fat. Indeed, you sometimes seem at nights A flapper, seen in certain lights. My fond eyes have surveyed you, sweet, Thro' all these years and found no fault. Your lustrous hair, your tiny feet Are still perfection. Yet a halt In my high praise wakes sudden fears: You're growing old behind the ears! Yet, even then, I'd not repine If that grey matter which should fill That pretty head, O lady mine, Gained age, 'twere compensation still; And I'd forgive the ravening years, If you'd mature above the ears.