Unwillingly Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun with terror,
One unwilling step she takes,
Shuddering to the mirror.
Miranda in Miranda's sight
Is old and gray and dirty;
Twenty-nine she was last night;
This morning she is thirty.
Shining like the morning star,
Like the twilight shining,
Haunted by a calendar,
Miranda is a-pining.
Silly girl, silver girl,
Draw the mirror toward you;
Time who makes the years to whirl
Adorned as he adored you.
Time is timelessness for you;
Calendars for the human;
What's a year, or thirty, to
Loveliness made woman?
Oh, Night will not see thirty again,
Yet soft her wing, Miranda;
Pick up your glass and tell me, then--
How old is Spring, Miranda?
what a superb way of expressing the fear of aging..... the question at the tag end is brilliant!
What a brilliant ending to an awesome poem! ! TO
Beautiful poem....such comforting compassion in the writers words
W, ords of a master clever to illustrate age and the withering tick of time, very nice to read!
Silly girl, silver girl, Draw the mirror toward you; Time who makes the years to whirl Adorned as he adored you. living in illusions. tony
good poem! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
My my how time changes the thinking.....
big mistake? mirrors only bring heartache
Time...... Tick tick tick it does not wait for you or I, or even the lady Miranda.!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
A beautiful reflection on what makes one old... does the passage of time affect our age? What is one day from the next if we do not make it so.