To my eye, dear love, you never seem old

Though visions oft diffract in memory;

As flooded eyes may warp what we behold

So too can features shift in poignancy;

Still, when I look at you, I see through time,

As through clear windows onto gardens green

Where stand reflections—but beyond in kind,

The truest essence of that which is seen.

Here most your present floats upon the past,

A paned reflection of unquestioned truth,

As if beyond your likeness, mirrored in glass—

A purer image of your love worn worth.

‘Tis then my eyes swell full with pleasured tears,

Whilst I gaze on love’s fond remembered years.