1. THEY soon grow old who grope for gold In marts where all is bought and sold; Who live for self, and on some shelf In darkened vaults hoard up their pelf Cankered and crusted o'er with mould. For them their youth itself is old. 2. They ne'er grow old who gather gold Where spring awakes and flowers unfold; Where suns arise in joyous skies, And fill the soul within their eyes. For them the immortal bards have sung, For them old age itself is young. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PLAYING SOMEONE ELSE'S PIANO by KAREN SWENSON THE CRICKET by FREDERICK GODDARD TUCKERMAN REMINDER by INDRAN AMIRTHANAYAGAM CORRESPONDENCES by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE THEATRE-CURTAIN by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH MEMORIES by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON TO LESBIA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |