O do not praise my beauty more,
       &nbsp In such word-wild degree,
And say I am one all eyes adore;
       &nbsp For these things harass me!

But do for ever softly say:
       &nbsp “From now unto the end
Come weal, come wanzing, come what may,
       &nbsp Dear, I will be your friend.”

I hate my beauty in the glass:
       &nbsp My beauty is not I:
I wear it: none cares whether, alas,
       &nbsp Its wearer live or die!

The inner I O care for, then,
       &nbsp Yea, me and what I am,
And shall be at the gray hour when
       &nbsp My cheek begins to clam.