The poem
I look into my glass, And view my wasting skin, And say, "Would God it came to pass My heart had shrunk as thin!"
For then, I, undistrest By hearts grown cold to me, Could lonely wait my endless rest With equanimity.
But Time, to make me grieve, Part steals, lets part abide; And shakes this fragile frame at eve With throbbings of noontide.
This poem is typical of Hardy in his often cynical outlook on life, though this is interesting as he looks at things from a less convensional perception for his era.