To bridal bloom her youth had sprung,
Behold her beautiful and young;
Lives there a record which hath told
That she was wedded, widowed, old?
“‘How long the date, ’twere vain to guess,
The pencil’s cunning art
Can but one single glance express,
One motion of the heart,
A smile, a blush, a transient grace
Of air and attitude and face,