At Thirty-Five

    Three score and ten, the psalmist saith,
    And half my course is well-nigh run;
    I've had my flout at dusty death,
    I've had my whack of feast and fun.
    I've mocked at those who prate and preach;
    I've laughed with any man alive;
    But now with sobered heart I reach
    The Great Divide of Thirty-five.

    And looking back I must confess
    I've little cause to feel elate.
    I've played the mummer more or less;
    I fumbled fortune, flouted fate.
    I've vastly dreamed and little done;
    I've idly watched my brothers strive:
    Oh, I have loitered in the sun
    By primrose paths to Thirty-five!

    And those who matched me in the race,
    Well, some are out and trampled down;
    The others jog with sober pace;
    Yet one wins delicate renown.
    O midnight feast and famished dawn!
    O gay, hard life, with hope alive!
    O golden youth, forever gone,
    How sweet you seem at Thirty-five!

    Each of our lives is just a book
    As absolute as Holy Writ;
    We humbly read, and may not look
    Ahead, nor change one word of it.
    And here are joys and here are pains;
    And here we fail and here we thrive;
    O wondrous volume! what remains
    When we reach chapter Thirty-five?

    The very best, I dare to hope,
    Ere Fate writes Finis to the tome;
    A wiser head, a wider scope,
    And for the gipsy heart, a home;
    A songful home, with loved ones near,
    With joy, with sunshine all alive:
    Watch me grow younger every year -
    Old Age! thy name is Thirty-five!