Could entwine itself, or ever will.
Nay, rather leave rouge and pearl powder alone,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a smear,
That nature’s own beauty in age may be known,
And the autumn of life calm and clear.
The heart that is true to itself never frets
For the tints of the lily and rose,
And the sun of affection should glow when it sets,
Even purer than when it arose.
Anonymous.