Page:A child's own book of verse, (Vol. 3) (IA childsownbookofv03skin).pdf/38

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

He clasps the crag with hooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring’d with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls. — Alfred Tennyson.