When Helen First Saw Wrinkles In Her Face ('T Was When Some Fifty Long Had Settled There And Intermarried And Branch'D Off Awide) She Threw Herself Upon Her Couch And Wept: On This Side Hung Her Head, And Over That Listlessly She Let Fall The Faithless Brass That Made The Men As Faithless. But When You Found Them, Or Fancied Them, And Would Not Hear That They Were Only Vestiges Of Smiles, Or The Impression Of Some Amorous Hair Astray From Cloister'D Curls And Roseate Band, Which Had Been Lying There All Night Perhaps Upon A Skin So Soft, 'No, No,' You Said, 'Sure, They Are Coming, Yes, Are Come, Are Here: Well, And What Matters It, While Thou Art Too!'