The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair, <br />There's men from the barn and the forge and the mill and the fold, <br />The lads for the girls and the lads for the liquor are there, <br />And there with the rest are the lads that will never be old. <br /> <br />There's chaps from the town and the field and the till and the cart, <br />And many to count are the stalwart, and many the brave, <br />And many the handsome of face and the handsome of heart, <br />And few that will carry their looks or their truth to the grave. <br /> <br />I wish one could know them, I wish there were tokens to tell <br />The fortunate fellows that now you can never discern; <br />And then one could talk with them friendly and wish them farewell <br />And watch them depart on the way that they will not return. <br /> <br />But now you may stare as you like and there's nothing to scan; <br />And brushing your elbow unguessed-at and not to be told <br />They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man, <br />The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.<br /><br />Alfred Edward Housman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-lads-in-their-hundreds/
