On getting old
You for the fragrant-blossomed Muses’ lovely gifts
be zealous, girls, and the clear melodious lyre:
but my once tender body old age now
has seized; my hair’s turned white instead of dark;
my heart’s grown heavy, my knees will not support me,
that once on a time were fleet for the dance as fawns.
This state I oft bemoan; but what’s to do?
Not to grow old, being human, there’s no way.
Tithonus once, the tale was, rose-armed Dawn,
love-smitten, carried off to the world’s end,
handsome and young then, yet in time grey age
o’ertook him, husband of immortal wife.
(-- Sappho. via Bitch, PhD)