That Age will soon at the lock of your life be prying?
Lover of life, do you know that the brown is going?
More than that—do you know that the gray is showing?
NOVEMBER
THESE are the days that try us; these the hours
That find, or leave us, cowards—doubters of Heaven,
Sceptics of self, and riddled through with vain
Blind questionings as to Deity. Mute, we scan
The sky, the barren, wan, the drab, dull sky,