The problem with ageing is that of course you don't feel any different inside and it's only when you look in the mirror that you get a shock.
Reminds me of another favourite poem of mine from Mr Hardy:
I look into my glass,
And view my wasted skin,
And say, 'Would God it came to pass
My heart had shrunk as thin!'
For then, I, undistresst
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.