The strong man's hand, the snow-cool head of age, <br />The certain-footed sympathies of youth - <br />These, and that lofty passion after truth, <br />Hunger unsatisfied in priest or sage <br />Or the great men of former years, he needs <br />That not unworthily would dare to sing <br />(Hard task!) black care's inevitable ring <br />Settling with years upon the heart that feeds <br />Incessantly on glory. Year by year <br />The narrowing toil grows closer round his feet; <br />With disenchanting touch rude-handed time <br />The unlovely web discloses, and strange fear <br />Leads him at last to eld's inclement seat, <br />The bitter north of life - a frozen clime.<br /><br />Robert Louis Stevenson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-vii-2/
