(After Martial) <br /> <br />To-day, my friend is seventy-five; <br />He tells his tale with no regret; <br />His brave old eyes are steadfast yet, <br />His heart the .lightest heart alive. <br /> <br />He sees behind him green and wide <br />The pathway of his pilgrim years; <br />He sees the shore, and dreadless hears <br />The whisper of the creeping tide. <br /> <br />For out of all his days, not one <br />Has passed and left its unlaid ghost <br />To seek a light for ever lost, <br />Or wail a deed for ever done. <br /> <br />So for reward of life-long truth <br />He lives again, as good men can, <br />Redoubling his allotted span <br />With memories of a stainless youth.<br /><br />Sir Henry Newbolt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/felix-antonius/
