Ogden Nash

A Lady Thinks She Is Thirty

Unwillingly Miranda wakes, 
Feels the sun with terror,
 One unwilling step she takes, 
Shuddering to the mirror. 

Miranda in Miranda's sight
 Is old and gray and dirty; 
Twenty-nine she was last night; 
This morning she is thirty. 

Shining like the morning star, 
Like the twilight shining, 
Haunted by a calendar, 
Miranda sits a-pining. 

Silly girl, silver girl, 
Draw the mirror toward you; 
Time who makes the years to whirl 
Adorned as he adored you. 

Time is timelessness for you; 
Calendars for the human; 
What's a year, or thirty, to 
Loveliness made woman? 

Oh, Night will not see thirty again, 
Yet soft her wing, Miranda;
 Pick up your glass and tell me, then--
 How old is Spring, Miranda?