Softly along the road of evening, / In a twilight dim with rose, / Wrinkled with age, and drenched with dew, / Old Nod, the shepherd, goes.

Very old are we men; / Our dreams are tales / Told in dim Eden / By Eve's nightingales.

Oh, no man knows / Through what wild centuries / Roves back the rose.

It is with an old love as it is with old age a man lives to all the miseries, but is dead to all the pleasures.

There was still an hour or two of daylight - even though clouds admitted only a greyish light upon the world, and his Uncle Timothy's house was by nature friendly to gloom.

("Out Of The Deep")

An hour's terror is better than a lifetime of timidity.