The jobs, the seasons, come and go;

It’s sunny, raining, years go by.

You do not age and seem to grow

Prettier: no need to ask me why – 

Beneath the pressures of Old Time,

Its distresses and concerns,

Your soul grows large and more sublime

And in your eyes and face it burns

Benevolently. So I see

My young missis by my side

Glowing. So it gives to me,

Blessed by your youth and beauty, pride.