To an Athlete Dying Young

5To-day, the road all runners come,

6Shoulder-high we bring you home,

7And set you at your threshold down,

8Townsman of a stiller town.

9Smart lad, to slip betimes away

10From fields where glory does not stay,

11And early though the laurel grows

12It withers quicker than the rose.

13Eyes the shady night has shut

14Cannot see the record cut,

15And silence sounds no worse than cheers

16After earth has stopped the ears:

17Now you will not swell the rout

18Of lads that wore their honours out,

19Runners whom renown outran

20And the name died before the man.

21So set, before its echoes fade,

22The fleet foot on the sill of shade,

23And hold to the low lintel up

24The still-defended challenge-cup.

25And round that early-laurelled head

26Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,

27And find unwithered on its curls

28The garland briefer than a girl's.