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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341302" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Poet’s Eightieth Birthday</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">``He dieth young whom the Gods love,'' was said<br>By Greek Menander; nor alone by One<br>Who gave to Greece his English song and sword<br>Re-echoed is the saying, but likewise he<br>``Who uttered nothing base,'' and from whose brow,<br>By right divine, the laurel lapsed to yours,-<br>Great sire, great successor,-in verse confirmed<br>The avowal of ``the Morning-Star of Song,''<br>Happiest is he that dieth in his flower.<br>Yet can it be that it is gain, not loss,<br>To quit the pageant of this life before<br>The heart hath learnt its meaning; leave half-seen,<br>Half-seen, half-felt, and not yet understood,<br>The beauty and the bounty of the world;<br>The fertile waywardness of wanton Spring,<br>Summer's deep calm, the modulated joy<br>Of Autumn conscious of a task fulfilled,<br>And home-abiding Winter's pregnant sleep,<br>The secret of the seasons? Gain, to leave<br>The depths of love unfathomed, its heights unscaled,<br>Rapture and woe unreconciled, and pain<br>Unprized, unapprehended? This is loss,<br>Loss and not gain, sheer forfeiture of good,<br>Is banishment from Eden, though its fruit<br>Remains untasted.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Interpret then the oracle, ``He dies young<br>Whom the Gods love,'' for Song infallible<br>Hath so pronounced! . . . Thus I interpret it:<br>The favourites of the Gods die young, for they,<br>They grow not old with grief and deadening time,<br>But still keep April moisture in their heart<br>May's music in their ears. Their voice revives,<br>Revives, rejuvenates, the wintry world,<br>Flushes the veins of gnarled and knotted age,<br>And crowns the majesty of life with leaves<br>As green as are the sapling's.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thrice happy Poet! to have thus renewed<br>Your youth with wisdom,-who, though life still seems<br>To your fresh gaze as frolic and as fair<br>As in the callow season when your heart<br>Was but the haunt and pairing-place and nest<br>Of nightingale and cuckoo, have enriched<br>Joy's inexperienced warblings with the note<br>Of mellow music, and whose mind mature,<br>Laden with life's sustaining lessons, still<br>Gleams bright with hope; even as I saw, to-day,<br>An April rainbow span the August corn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Long may your green maturity maintain<br>Its universal season; and your voice,<br>A household sound, be heard about our hearths,<br>Now as a Christmas carol, now as the glee<br>Of vernal Maypole, now as harvest song.<br>And when, like light withdrawn from earth to heaven,<br>Your glorious gloaming fades into the sky,<br>We, looking upward, shall behold you there,<br>Shining amid the young unageing stars.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Austin">Alfred Austin</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341302" data-title="A Poet’s Eightieth Birthday de Alfred Austin" data-description="``He dieth young whom the Gods love,'' was said
By Greek Menander; nor alone by One
Who gave to Greece his English song and sword
Re-echoed is the saying, but likewise he
``Who uttered nothing base,'' and from whose brow,
By right divine, the laur..."></div>
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