“How does it go? Read to me, Miles. ‘Even so is time’—You know it.”
Miles found the page, and with an unsteady voice obeyed.
“‘Even such is time, that takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with earth and dust;
Who, in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days.
But—’”
The old man stopped him, with a sign of content, and took up the lines, whispering:—