Grow old with me! The best is yet to be. - Robert Browning

But, gathering in its ancient market-place,
Talked group with restless group ; and not a face
But wrath made livid, for among them were
Death's staunch purveyors, such as have in care
To feast him. Fear had long since taken root
In every breast, and now these crushed its fruit,
The ripe hate, like a wine: to note the way
It worked while each grew drunk ! men grave and grey
Stood, with shut eyelids, rocking to and fro.
Letting the silent luxury trickle slow
About the hollows where a heart should be;
But the young gulped with a delirious glee
Some foretaste of their first debauch in blood
At the fierce news

With mortals much must go, but something stays;
Nothing will stay of our so happy selves.

Let us cry, "All good things Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!"