I used to think that growing old

was reckoned just in years,

But who can name the very date

when weariness appears?

I find no stated time when man,

obedient to a law,

Must settle in an easy chair

and from the world withdraw.

Old Age is rather curious,

or so it seems to me.

I know old men at forty

and young men at seventy-three.

 

 

I'm done with counting life by years

or temples turning gray.

No man is old who wakes with joy

to greet another day.

What if the body cannot dance

with youth's elastic spring?

There's many a vibrant interest

to which the mind can cling.

'Tis in the spirit Age must dwell,

or this would never be:

I know old men at forty

and young men at seventy-three.

 

 

Some men keep all their friendships warm,

and welcome friendships new,

They have no time to sit and mourn

the things they used to do.

This changing world they greet with joy

and never bow to late;

On every fresh adventure

they set out with hearts elate

From chilling fear and bitter dread

they keep their spirits free

While some seem old at forty

they stay young at seventy-three.

 

 

So much to do, so much to learn,

so much in which to share!

With twinkling eyes and minds alert

some brave both time and care.

And this I've learned from other men,

that only they are old

Who think with something that has passed

the tale of life is told.

For Age is not alone of time,

or we should never see

Men old and bent at forty

and men young at seventy-three.

 

 

~"Old Age" By Edgar Guest~