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!