“WHERE do the wrinkles come from?"

And the joyous little Grace

Looked gravely into the mirror

At her rose-tinted face.


"Where do the wrinkles come from?—

Why, first, dear, I suppose,

The heart lets in a sorrow,

And then the wrinkle grows.


"Then anger comes a-tapping,

And the heart's door opens wide;

Then hasten naughty envy,

And discontent, and pride.


"And the wrinkles follow slowly,

For the face has for its part

To tell just what is doing

Down in the secret heart.


"And the red lips lose their sweetness,

And draw down so," said Grace;

"And the lovely, youthful angel

Goes slowly from the face."

"Watch the gates of the heart, my darling,

For the heart is the dwelling-place

Of the magical angel of beauty,

Whose smiles are seen in thy face."