Chapter 507 of 1964 · 61 words · ~1 min read

LIX.

It is a hard although a common case To find our children running restive--they In whom our brightest days we would retrace, Our little selves re-formed in finer clay, Just as old age is creeping on apace, And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, But in good company--the gout or stone.