When all the world is young, lad, <br />And all the trees are green; <br />And every goose a swan, lad, <br />And every lass a queen— <br />Then hey for boot and horse lad, <br />And round the world away; <br />Young blood must have its course, lad, <br />And every dog his day. <br /> <br />When all the world is old, lad, <br />And all the trees are brown; <br />And all the sport is stale, lad, <br />And all the wheels run down— <br />Creep home, and take your place there, <br />The spent and manned among; <br />God grant you find one face there <br />You loved when all was young.<br /><br />Charles Kingsley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-old-song/
