Will hearts grown old forget their youth?
And hands grown old give up the strife?
Shall we accept as ordered truth The dismal anarchy of life?
Better die now--at once be free Of hope and fear--renounce the whole: For of what worth would living be Should one--grown old--outlive one"s soul?
Yet see: through curtains closely drawn Creeps in the exorcising light; The sacred fingers of the dawn Put all my troop of ghosts to flight.
And then I hear the brave Sun"s voice, Though still the skies are gray and dim: "Old age comes never--Oh, rejoice-- Except to those who beckon him.
"All that youth"s dreams are nourished by, By that shall dreams in age be fed-- Thy n.o.ble dreams can never die Until thyself shall wish them dead!"