Still more labyrinthine buds the rose.
At last awake from life, that insane dream we take for waking now.
Therefore I summon age / To grant youth's heritage.
Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.
If all the world is a stage and life is just a play upon it, get me two seats in the stalls.
Oh, the little more, and how much it is! And the little less, and what worlds away.