Robert Browning
Grow Old Along With Me
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!"

Not that, amassing flowers
Youth sighed "Which rose make ours
Which lily leave and then as best recall?"
Not that, admiring stars
It yearned "Nor Jove, nor Mars;
Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all!"

Not for such hopes and fears
Annulling youth's brief years
Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark!
Rathеr I prize the doubt
Low kinds exist without
Finishеd and finite clods, untroubled by a spark