Wives In The Sere Thomas Hardy

I

Never a careworn wife but shows,
        If a joy suffuse her,
Something beautiful to those
        Patient to peruse her,
Some one charm the world unknows
        Precious to a muser,
Haply what, ere years were foes,
        Moved her mate to choose her.

II

But, be it a hint of rose
        That an instant hues her,
Or some early light or pose
        Wherewith thought renews her -
Seen by him at full, ere woes
        Practised to abuse her -
Sparely comes it, swiftly goes,
        Time again subdues her.