Alfred Edward Housman
To an Athlete Dying Young
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.
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.
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.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:
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.
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.
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.
Alfred Edward Housman's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (To an Athlete Dying Young by Alfred Edward Housman )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- Smoking Euthanasia, Dexsta Ray
- Touch, Francis Wanyiri
- poet laureate i think, lee fones
- सोरनिबा आगान, Ronjoy Brahma
- Roaring ready to go…, Mark Heathcote
- why does this have to happen, Happy Hippie Girl
- Sadness Of Living, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Blackened Bronze, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Child of the South, Leah Ayliffe
- Progressive Yearnings, RoseAnn V. Shawiak