Laudator Temporis Acti

Giacomo Leopardi (1798-1837), "Il Tramonto della Luna," lines 44-50 (tr. Jonathan Galassi):

The eternal gods invented—
great work of immortal minds—
the worst of all afflictions:
old age, in which desire is unfulfilled
and hope extinguished,
the fonts of pleasure withered,
pain ever greater, and with no more joy.

D'intelletti immortali
Degno trovato, estremo        45
Di tutti i mali, ritrovàr gli eterni
La vecchiezza, ove fosse
Incolume il desio, la speme estinta,
Secche le fonti del piacer, le pene
Maggiori sempre, e non più dato il bene.        50

The same (tr. Geoffrey L. Bickersteth):

The eternals Gods designed—
Of immortal intellect
A worthy find—the extremest of all woes,
Old age, that still unchecked
Desire might linger on, when hope had died,
The springs of joy be dried, sorrow not less
But more, and still no hint of happiness.

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From Eric Thomson:

Among recent Italians to stare the worst of afflictions in the face is Norberto Bobbio, here in a speech he gave on receiving an honorary degree in 1994, when he was 83 (Old Age and Other Essays (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2001) p. 8, endnotes omitted):

[O]ur literature has a long rhetorical tradition of treatises exalting the virtues and pleasures of old age, stretching from Cicero's De senectute, written in 44 BC when the author was 62, to Elogio della vecchiaia by Paolo Mantegazza, which appeared at the end of the nineteenth century when he was 64. These works are nothing less than a literary genre that provides both an apologia for old age and a belittlement of death. Cicero discusses the subject in accordance with the classical model of contempt for death. Youth itself is no stranger to death. Besides, what is there to worry about when my soul will survive my body? 'Nature has given us this dwelling-place in which to stop for shelter, not to live in forever. Magnificent will be the day when I will depart for that divine meeting-place and assembly of souls, leaving behind this disorderly throng.' The positivist and Darwinian Mantegazza dispensed with troubled thoughts of death more briskly and prosaically: 'There is simply no need to think about it.' Why torment yourself with thoughts of death? Besides, death is nothing more than a return to nature into which all things come together. It goes without saying that I find this eulogistic genre nauseating.