Classic Poem

" When you are old, " she said, " grown old and grey... "
I laughed to hear her say it, till the cold,
Strange thought came afterwards, you will be old
Sometime and give your hurley stick away
For someone else to play.

It seemed a foolish word, yet she spoke true,
That you must be like other men and trail
Your dragging feet and tell a twice-told tale,
Rubbing dry wrinkled hands as old men do,
And yet it will be you.

Young men will praise new heroes of the game,
This one's endurance, that one's flying feet.
How will they know how strong you were and fleet,
You who were once a storm wind and a flame?
They will forget your fame.

They will not dream, these careless and uncouth,
That you, who wag an old man's tedious tongue,
Were once a splendour, tawny-haired and young
But I shall laugh at them who doubt the truth
Of your immortal youth.