Poems: Old and New

by Frederick George Scott




I SAW Time in his workshop carving faces;
   Scattered around his tools lay, blunting griefs,
   Sharp cares that cut out deeply in reliefs
Of light and shade; sorrows that smooth the traces
Of what were smiles. Nor yet without fresh graces
   His handiwork, for ofttimes rough were ground
   And polished, oft the pinched made smooth and round;
The calm look, too, the impetuous fire replaces.

Long time I stood and watched; with hideous grin
   He took each heedless face between his knees,

      And graved and scarred and bleached with boiling tears.
I wondering turned to go, when, lo, my skin
   Feels crumpled, and in glass my own face sees
       Itself all changed, scarred, careworn, white with years!
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