The course of my long life hath reached at last, <br />In fragile bark o'er a tempestuous sea, <br />The common harbor, where must rendered be <br />Account of all the actions of the past. <br />The impassioned phantasy, that, vague and vast, <br />Made art an idol and a king to me, <br />Was an illusion, and but vanity <br />Were the desires that lured me and harassed. <br />The dreams of love, that were so sweet of yore, <br />What are they now, when two deaths may be mine,-- <br />One sure, and one forecasting its alarms? <br />Painting and sculpture satisfy no more <br />The soul now turning to the Love Divine, <br />That oped, to embrace us, on the cross its arms.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/old-age-sonnet-iv/
