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“And yet I would not be a child again. For surely as the night succeeds the day, So surely will their mirth turn into tears. And I would not return to happy hours, If I must live again these weary years. I would walk on, and leave it all behind: will walk on; and when my feet grow sore, The boatman waits—his sails are all unfurled— He waits to row me to a fairer shore.” — Ella Wheeler Wilcox
And yet I would not be a child again.
For surely as the night succeeds the day,
So surely will their mirth turn into tears.
And I would not return to happy hours,
If I must live again these weary years.
I would walk on, and leave it all behind:
will walk on; and when my feet grow sore,
The boatman waits—his sails are all unfurled—
He waits to row me to a fairer shore.