That this handsome face would not be
Encroached by the cruel invasions
Of Time, which quills words and descriptions
Of how the relentless assaults of age
Mark its evil robbery of grace.
My wish came true: My lovely youth
Was preserved by the dashes of strokes
Of paint, miraculously transforming Truth -
My portrait grew older as I gladly stole
Its beauty for my own, squandering
Away Time, my smile sparkling
With a hint of self-satisfaction
At this fortuitous event: My youth
Clasped in wondrous eternal perfection;
It would last, it would not fade; it is
A color of beauty; a flawless hue.
And through this startling chiaroscuro
Comes our ultimate exchange of roles;
In the iridescence of paint
Emerges the dark shades of the vain
Pride of Dorian Gray.
What a sad thing I didn't know that
His face in the portrait would eventually
Be discolored with endless pain.