My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. Thus fares it still in o… - William Wordsworth

And yet the wiser mind
Mourns less for what age takes away
Than what it leaves behind.

A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?

..........books are yours,
Within whose silent chambers treasure lies
Preserved from age to age; more precious far
Than that accumulated store of gold
And orient gems, which, for a day of need,
The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs.
These hoards of truth you can unlock at will:

The eye—it cannot choose but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.