Classic Poem

My father got me strong and straight and slim
And I give thanks to him.
My mother bore me glad and sound and sweet,
I kiss her feet!

But now, with me, their generation fails
And nevermore avails
To cast through me the ancient mould again,
Such women and men.

I have no son, whose life of flesh and fire
Sprang from my splendid sire;
No daughter for whose soul my mother's flesh
Wrought raiment fresh.

Life's venerable rhythms like a flood
Beat in my brain and blood,
Crying from all generations past,
" Is this the last? "

And I make answer to my haughty dead,
Who made me, heart and head,
" Even the sunbeams falter, flicker and bend —
I am the end. "