The dusk is down on the river meadows, <br />The moon is climbing above the fir, <br />The lane is crowded with creeping shadows, <br />The gorse is only a distant blur; <br />The last of the light is almost gone, <br />But hark! They're running! <br />They're running on ! <br />The count of the years is steadily growing; <br />The Old give way to the eager Young; <br />Far on the hill is the horn still blowing, <br />Far on the steep are the hounds still strung. <br />Good men follow the good men gone; <br />And hark! They're running! <br />They're running on!<br /><br />William Henry Ogilvie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/running-on-3/
