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HeHad alwaysBeen a lucky one:The girl he lovedRefused him, so he alwaysKept her fresh-eyed beautySafe from ravagings of Time,And lived with her in one closeCorner of his brain, and kissed her lips,And pale white hands, and dreamy hair.The man she married saw her dreamy hairBecome a night-mare, and her red lipsCrack, and white hands coarsen. CloseThough he held her, thieving TimeCrept in and stole her beauty,And after that stole love.And yet her husband knewThat Time compoundedInterest on herWealth. He, too,Had always beenA luckyOne.

© Arthur James Marshall Smith