Growing old! The pulses' measure

Keeps its even tenor still;

Eye and hand nor fail nor falter,

And the brain obeys the will;

Only by the whitening tresses,

And the deepening wrinkles told,

Youth has passed away like vapor;

Prime is gone, and I grow old.

Laughter hushes at my presence,

Gay young voices whisper lower,

If I dare to linger by it,

All the streams or life run slower.

Though I love the mirth of children,

Though I prize youth's virgin gold,

What have I to do with either!

Time is telling—I grow old.

Not so dread the gloomy river

That I shrank from so of yore;

All my first of love and friendship

Gather on the further shore.

Were it not the best to join them

Ere I feel the blood run cold?

Ere I hear it said too harshly,

"Stand back from us—you are old!"

—All the Year Round.