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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374282" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Experience</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374282" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374282" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">LIKE Crusoe with the bootless gold we stand<br>Upon the desert verge of death, and say:<br>'What shall avail the woes of yesterday<br>To buy to-morrow's wisdom, in the land<br>Whose currency is strange unto our hand?<br>In life's small market they have served to pay<br>Some late-found rapture, could we but delay<br>Till Time hath matched our means to our demand.'</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374282" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>But otherwise Fate wills it, for, behold,<br>Our gathered strength of individual pain,<br>When Time's long alchemy hath made it gold,<br>Dies with us - hoarded all these years in vain,<br>Since those that might be heir to it the mould<br>Renew, and coin themselves new griefs again.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374282" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">II.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374282" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O, Death, we come full-handed to thy gate,<br>Rich with strange burden of the mingled years,<br>Gains and renunciations, mirth and tears,<br>And love's oblivion, and remembering hate,<br>Nor know we what compulsion laid such freight<br>Upon our souls - and shall our hopes and fears<br>Buy nothing of thee, Death? Behold our wares,<br>And sell us the one joy for which we wait.<br>Had we lived longer, life had such for sale,<br>With the last coin of sorrow purchased cheap,<br>But now we stand before thy shadowy pale,<br>And all our longings lie within thy keep -<br>Death, can it be the years shall naught avail?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374282" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">'Not so,' Death answered, 'they shall purchase sleep.'</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edith+Wharton">Edith Wharton</a></strong></div>

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