There Is The Silence Of Age, Too

There Is The Silence Of Age, Too Full Of Wisdom For The Tongue To Utter It In Words Intelligible To Those Who Have Not Lived The Great Range Of Life.

What Is This I Hear Of Sorrow And Weariness, Anger, Discontent And Drooping Hopes? Degenerate Sons And Daughters, Life Is Too Strong For You— It Takes Life To Love Life.

How Shall The Soul Of A Man Be Larger Than The Life He Has Lived?

This Is A Man With An Old Face, Always Old... There Was Pathos, In His Face, And In His Eyes. The Early Weariness; And Sometimes Tears In His Eyes, Which He Let Slip Unconsciously On His Cheek, Or Brushed Away With An Unconcerned Hand. There Were Tears For Human Suffering, Or For A Glance Into The Vast Futility Of Life, Which He Had Seen From The First, Being Old When He Was Born.

The Mind Sees The World As A Thing Apart, And The Soul Makes The World At One With Itself. A Mirror Scratched Reflects No Image— And This Is The Silence Of Wisdom.