Poems (Hardy)/Her calendar
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For works with similar titles, see Her calendar.
HER CALENDAR
S. M. M., Jan. 16, 1886.
WE do not count her age by days and years,
But by the constant summer in her face;
Not by the sorrows that have brought her tears,
But by the faith that takes away their trace;
Hence have we kept in warm familiar place
Such record,—be we younger,—as endears
All that she is to us, and adds a grace
To each till each as old as she appears.
But we, who older walk with her, have caught
That chrism, too, that doth her life enrich;
For the high faith which in her soul hath wrought
Reflects a light on ours from that fair niche
Wherein our hearts, in love for her made bold,
Have set her that she never may grow old.
But by the constant summer in her face;
Not by the sorrows that have brought her tears,
But by the faith that takes away their trace;
Hence have we kept in warm familiar place
Such record,—be we younger,—as endears
All that she is to us, and adds a grace
To each till each as old as she appears.
But we, who older walk with her, have caught
That chrism, too, that doth her life enrich;
For the high faith which in her soul hath wrought
Reflects a light on ours from that fair niche
Wherein our hearts, in love for her made bold,
Have set her that she never may grow old.