Karle Wilson Baker: Let me grow lovely, growing old

Let me grow lovely, growing old—

so many fine things do; 

laces, and ivory, and gold, 

and silks need not be new;

 

and there is healing in old trees,

old streets a glamour hold;

why may not I, as well as these,

grow lovely, growing old?

 

—Karle Wilson Baker (1878-1960)