"To an Athlete Dying Young," by A. E. Housman (Branch copy)

Author: A. E. Housman

1 The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

2 Today, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

3 Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

4 Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears.

5 Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.

6 So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.

7 And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.

8 Source: The Norton Anthology of Poetry Third Edition (1983)

DMU Timestamp: March 29, 2019 18:11