Old Age

I used to think that growing old
was reckened just in years,
But who can name the very date
when weariness appears?
I find no stated time when man
obedient to the 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.

It's done by counting life by years,
or temples turning gray,
No man is old who wakes with joy
to greet another day.
What if the body can not 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 fate;
On every new adventure
they-set out with hearts slate;
From chilling fear and bitter dread,
they keep their spirits free,
While some seem old at forty,
these 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 a loan of time,
or we would never see,
Man old and bent at forty,
and young at seventy-three.

By: Edgar Guest