The Brief Hour of Youth-Athletic

Those were days of majic,
When all the world was young.
I could run with the wind,
With not a breathless step.

Those were days of delight,
I had not lost my youth.
All my vigor was mine,
I had not slowed my step.

Youth grows old and palsied,
Youth's brightness turns to dust.
It ceases to be bold,
It stops being carefree.

Once I feared my old age,
My slowing endurance,
But I had my hour,
I loved it for its sake.

All that is good in man
Will come to its own end.
It loses its time and place
And makes way for the new.