Why should advancing years be thought less bright
Than youthful days which lack what wisdom holds—
The glow of mellowed love, the golden light
Of judgment which experience unfolds?
Are not the latter chords of melodies
More brilliant than the early tune designs,
The climax of a sonnet's harmonies
More vivid than the first few opening lines?
The kindliness and tolerance of all
Who grow in grace with life's long afternoon
Will be more lovely than the starry shawl
That twilight drapes and pins with sickle moon.
No dread of age assails the hearts who know
That Spirit's beauty has eternal glow.
