Chapter XVII

Shall we suffer, alas! the dead weight of the
years until at length we are no more than two
quiet people, exchanging the harmless kisses of
children at evening when the fire flames in the
hollow of the chimney?

Shall our dear furniture see us drag ourselves
with slow steps from the hearth to the beechen
chest, support ourselves by the wall to reach the
window, and huddle our tottering bodies on heavy
seats?

If our wreck is to appear one day in such guise,
while numbness deadens our brains and our arms,
we shall not bemoan, in spite of evil fate, and
we shall hold our tears pent up in our breasts.

For even so, we shall still keep our eyes with
which to gaze on the day that follows night, and
to see the dawn and the sun shed their radiance
on life, and make a wonderful object of the
earth.