That look again, oh! where are such!
I must not pass thee as I go,
But I will softly, gently touch.
“So gently by thee will I steal
That none the steps of Time shall see; 30
This withering scythe thou shalt not feel,
Nor injured by its stroke shalt be.—
“But still I must my prowess prove,
Be not displeased—indeed I must;
Or men will say that Time, in love,