In The Night She Came

I told her when I left one day     That whatsoever weight of care     Might strain our love, Time's mere assault      Would work no changes there.     And in the night she came to me,      Toothless, and wan, and old,     With leaden concaves round her eyes,      And wrinkles manifold.     I tremblingly exclaimed to her,     "O wherefore do you ghost me thus!     I have said that dull defacing Time      Will bring no dreads to us."     "And is that true of YOU?" she cried      In voice of troubled tune.     I faltered: "Well . . . I did not think      You would test me quite so soon!"     She vanished with a curious smile,     Which told me, plainlier than by word,     That my staunch pledge could scarce beguile      The fear she had averred.     Her doubts then wrought their shape in me,      And when next day I paid     My due caress, we seemed to be      Divided by some shade.