“Days decrease, / And autumn grows, autumn in everything.”

“How well I know what I mean to doWhen the long dark Autumn evenings come,And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue?With the music of all thy voices, dumbIn life’s November too!I shall be found by the fire, suppose,O’er a great wise book as beseemeth age,While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows,And I turn the page, and I turn the page,Not verse now, only prose!”

“Grow old with me! The best is yet to be.”

“grow old with me. the best is yet to be.the last of life for which the first was made.”

“On a day like today I am stung by the splendor of a sudden thought.”

“Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!”

“The year's at the springAnd day's at the morn;Morning's at seven;The hill-side's dew-pearled;The lark's on the wing;The snail's on the thorn;God's in His heaven—All's right with the world!”