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To An Athlete Dying Young
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by VRBurton 13 years, 1 month ago
To an Athlete Dying Youngby A. E. Housman (1859-1936)
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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.
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To-day, the road all runners come, Shoulder-high we bring you home, And set you at your threshold down, Townsman of a stiller town.
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Smart lad, to slip betimes away From fields were glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose.
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Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut, And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears:
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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.
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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.
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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.
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To An Athlete Dying Young
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