As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, <br />Leads by the hand her little child to bed, <br />Half willing, half reluctant to be led, <br />And leave his broken playthings on the floor, <br />Still gazing at them through the open door, <br />Nor wholly reassured and comforted <br />By promises of others in their stead, <br />Which though more splendid, may not please him more; <br />So Nature deals with us, and takes away <br />Our playthings one by one, and by the hand <br />Leads us to rest so gently, that we go <br />Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, <br />Being too full of sleep to understand <br />How far the unknown transcends the what we know.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/nature-3/
