On Aging
Despising my dull, listless time as a child,
I once wished myself to be fully-grown:
now grown, no longer am I as beguiled
by growing up (as old age I bemoan);
the wisdom of many long years is sublime;
but the salad days of youth eternal
are what makes songs of Poesy rhyme,
as shedding of life's leaves feels infernal.
Therefore, be in the winter of your life
with love: for love restores you like a tonic,
carves out the melancholy like a sharp knife
(to hush the voices so dark and demonic).
To age well, live well: so love and be loved,
and bar not the comfort of your beloved.
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