Uploaded on November 8, 2011
When all the world is young, lad,
and all the trees are green;
and every goose a swan, lad,
and every lass a queen;
then hey for boot and horse, lad,
and round the world away;
young blood must have its course, lad,
and every dog his day.
When all the world is old, lad,
and all the trees are brown;
and all the sport is stale, lad,
and all the wheels run down;
creep home, and take your place there,
the spent and maimed among:
God grant you find one face there,
you loved when all as young.
—Charles Kingsley
The Giant Book of Poetry
edited by William H. Roetzheim
11.08.2023: I don’t know how I feel about this poem. I’ll just leave it at that.