Spring it is cheery, <br />Winter is dreary, <br />Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly; <br />When he's forsaken, <br />Wither'd and shaken, <br />What can an old man do but die? <br />Love will not clip him, <br />Maids will not lip him, <br />Maud and Marian pass him by; <br />Youth it is sunny, <br />Age has no honey,— <br />What can an old man do but die? <br />June it was jolly, <br />Oh for its folly! <br />A dancing leg and a laughing eye; <br />Youth may be silly, <br />Wisdom is chilly,— <br />What can an old man do but die? <br />Friends, they are scanty, <br />Beggars are plenty, <br />If he has followers, I know why; <br />Gold's in his clutches, <br />(Buying him crutches!) <br />What can an old man do but die?<br /><br />Thomas Hood<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spring-it-is-cheery/
