When some shall say, Fair once my Silvia was,
Thou wilt complain, False now's thy looking-glass,
Which renders that quite tarnished which was green,
And priceless now what peerless once had been.
Upon thy form more wrinkles yet will fall,
And, coming down, shall make no noise at all.
Upon Silvia, A Mistress
Robert Herrick
(1)
Poem topics: green, noise, glass, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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