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To an Athlete Dying Young
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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.
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
Read poems about / on: smart, girl, home, silence, rose, night, time
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Susan Richardson (6/20/2006 2:57:00 PM)
Surely the whole point is what was, not what could have been? Ultimately to have lost the challenge cup and for the laurel to have withered, as better, younger athletes usurp his position. An early death ensures this will never happen.
Ditto the Meryl Streep ref. I too can never read this without hearing the halting Danish accent. Brilliant film, fantastic score, wonderful poetry! |
Richard Terrify (11/24/2005 9:30:00 PM)
There's a scene in the movie Out Of Africa where this poem, or part of it, is read at the burial of Robert Redfords character. I thought it was one of the most beautiful tributes to a figure admired, not only an athlete. Of course, I cannot read it without hearing the Danish accent Meryl Streep used in the film, but what a voice to hear in your head when recalling a favorite poem. I owe this movie a debt of gratitude for making me aware of this fine poem. |
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Alfred Edward Housman
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