Up the old hill to the old house again <br />Where fifty years ago the friend was young <br />Who should be waiting somewhere there among <br />Old things that least remembered most remain, <br />He toiled on with a pleasure that was pain <br />To think how soon asunder would be flung <br />The curtain half a century had hung <br />Between the two ambitions they had slain. <br /> <br />They dredged an hour for words, and then were done. <br />“Good-bye!… You have the same old weather-vane— <br />Your little horse that’s always on the run.” <br />And all the way down back to the next train, <br />Down the old hill to the old road again, <br />It seemed as if the little horse had won.<br /><br />Edwin Arlington Robinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-long-race/
