““A stationary sense . . . as, I suppose, I shall have, till my single body grows Inaccurate, tired; Then I shall start to feel the backward pull Take over, sickening and masterful — Some say, desired. And this must be the prime of life . . . I blink, As if at pain; for it is pain, to think This pantomime Of compensating act and counter-act, Defeat and counterfeit, makes up, in fact, My ablest time. - Maturity ””
