English poem
As We Grow Old
by Arthur Colton (1868–1943)
Tempora labuntur tacitisque senescimus annis.
"Time glides along and we grow old
By process of the silent years,"
More fain the busy hands to fold,
More quiet when a tale is told
Where death appears.
It is not that the feet would shrink
From that dark river, lapping, cold,
And hid with mists from brink to brink;
Only one likes to sit and think,
As one grows old.