Wednesday, December 14, 2016
Old age is not pitiably beggarly
"Be with me, Beauty, for the fire is dying; My dog and I are old, too old for roving. Man, whose young passion sets the spindrift flying, Is soon too lame to march, too cold for loving.” The above are the opening lines of John Masefield’s poem On Growing Old, wherein is contrasted the natural gifts... Sign in
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