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 (1850-1919) American author, poet, temperance advocate, spiritualist

Poem (1868), “An Autumn Reverie,” st. 4-5, Shells (1873)
    (Source)