Poetry and Prose

Sooth Mayer

"To An Athlete Dying Young" by A.E. Housman

The time you won the town your 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 through the laurels grows

It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut

Cannot see the record cut,