Here you will find the Poem The Old, Old Song of poet Charles Kingsley
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 manned among; God grant you find one face there You loved when all was young.
