Weekend birthday poetry fix

This man is celebrating El Cabrero's 50th.

Today marks my 50th year on the planet. I could think of no better poem for the occasion than "Nature," Longfellow's meditation on aging. Not all my playthings have been taken away yet, but the writing is on the wall.

AS a fond mother, when the day is o’er,
Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door,
Nor wholly reassured and comforted
By promises of others in their stead,
Which, though more splendid, may not please him more;
So Nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand
How far the unknown transcends the what we know.

GOAT ROPE ADVISORY LEVEL: TRANSCENDENTALLY UNKNOWN