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Sexagenarius Loquitur

     From our youth to our age
     We have passed each stage
          In  old immemorial  order,
     From primitive days
     Through flowery ways
          With love like a hedge as their border.
     Ah, youth was a kingdom of joy,
          And we were the king and the queen,
             When I was a year
             Short of thirty, my dear,
          And you were just nearing nineteen.
     But dark follows light
     And day follows night
          As the old planet circles the sun;
     And nature still traces
     Her score on our faces
          And tallies the years as they run.
     Have they chilled the old warmth in your
          I swear that they have not in mine,
             Though I am a year
             Short of sixty, my dear,
          And you are — well, say thirty-nine.

Arthur Conan Doyle