Classic Poem

When I was young and twenty
I'ld run a many mile,
And when I came to thirty
I'ld sit and rest awhile,
And now that I am thirty-five
I am the sleepiest man alive.

But maybe when I'm forty
I'll shake my legs again,
And walk from then till fifty
With young and striding men,
And hillward go in sixty's wear
To see how yet the counties fare.

When I am old and eighty,
All treasons will be done
Of love and silly bitterness;
And I shall watch the sun
Go out, and little heed the fear
That smote upon my middle-year.

So twenty comes to eighty
By many a stony track,
And times I have for merchandise
But sorrows in my pack.
But youth foretold them not, and yet
Age will but count them to forget.

So though I come from twenty
To be at thirty-five,
Beset by fears and fancies,
The sleepiest man alive,
Some birthday yet I'll rise and keep
A prouder soul before I sleep.

Before I sleep at eighty,
Never again to know
The hill-tops and the counties
And striding men below,
And furious fevers fade away
To song, and into grass my clay.