Whatever poet, orator, or sage May say of it, old age is still old age. It is the waning, not the crescent, moon, The dusk of evening, not the blaze of noon. It is not strength but weakness, not desire But its surcease, not the fierce heat of fire, The burning and consuming element, But that of ashes and of embers spent. In which some living sparks we still discern, Enough to warm but not enough to burn. What, then, shall we sit idly down and say The night hath come; it is no longer day? The night hath not come; we are not quite Cut off from labor by the failing light. Something remains for us to do or dare, Even the oldest tree some fruit may bear. Not Œdipus Colonus, or Greek Ode, Or tales of pilgrims that one morning rode Out of the gateway of the Tabard Inn. But other something would we but begin, For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars invisible by day. I also append the following quotations: At sixty-two life is begun, At seventy-three begins once more; Fly swifter as thou near’st the sun And brighter shine at eighty-four. At ninety-five Shouldst thou arrive Still wait on God and work and thrive. It has been sung by ancient sages That love of life increases with years So much that in our later stages, When bones grow sharp and sickness rages The greatest love of life appears. Hard choice for man to die or else to be That tottering, wretched, wrinkled thing you see, Age then we all prefer; for age we pray; And travel on to life’s last lingering day, Then sinking slowly down from worse to worse, Find Heaven’s extorted boon our greatest curse. Many a man passes his youth in preparing misery for his age, and his age in repairing the misconduct of his youth. It is easy to die but difficult to die at the right time. The danger of shipwreck is less in mid-ocean than near to shore. Time wears out masks; the old show what they are. The misfortunes of life are that we are born young and become old. Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made! What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me. BROWNING: _Rabbi Ben Ezra_. What is age but youth’s full bloom And retiring, more transcendent youth? Old men must die or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again.--TENNYSON: _Becket_. Youth is a blunder; manhood a struggle; old age a regret.--DISRAELI: _Coningsby_.