Age, thou the loss of health and friends shalt mourn! <br />But thou art passing to that night-still bourne, <br />Where labour sleeps. The linnet, chattering loud <br />To the May morn, shall sing; thou, in thy shroud, <br />Forgetful and forgotten, sink to rest; <br />And grass-green be the sod upon thy breast!<br /><br />William Lisle Bowles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/age-31/
