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Arthur Symons - Time And Beauty
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Your hair, that burning gold 
Naked might not behold, 
Shall tarnish, and your skin 
Wrinkle its satin in. 
And your lips, like a rose, 
Uncolour and unclose; 
Yet, because you are made 
Of beauty, not arrayed 
In beauty`s covering. 
Hold Time for a vain thing. 
Time shall bid youth let fall 
Its colours one and all, 
And wither in chill air 
Bright blood and burning hair; 
When these are overpast. 
The bones of beauty last.
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