Sonnet Lxxxv: Poem by George Henry Boker

I know not if one beauty less or more
This year hath left upon my darling's face,
Or if today her step of youthful grace
Lags in the rear of those that went before.
Less friendly tongues may say the look she wore
On her last birthday shows time's ruthless trace,
Proving her merely of our mortal race,
And not the goddess I so fondly swore.
I shall not question her dear face for change:
My heart in pity only would despise
My simple senses for their adverse lies.
What change can come within the realm we range,
Where time is talked of as a shadow strange,
Beneath the light of love's eternal eyes?