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Robert W Service - A Song Of Sixty-Five
Work rating: Low

Brave Thackeray has trolled of days when he was twenty-one,
And bounded up five flights of stairs, a gallant garreteer;
And yet again in mellow vein when youth was gaily run,
Has dipped his nose in Gascon wine, and told of Forty Year.
But if I worthy were to sing a richer, rarer time,
I`d tune my pipes before the fire and merrily I`d strive
To praise that age when prose again has given way to rhyme,
The Indian Summer days of life when I`ll be Sixty-five;

For then my work will all be done, my voyaging be past,
And I`ll have earned the right to rest where folding hills are green;
So in some glassy anchorage I`ll make my cable fast, —
Oh, let the seas show all their teeth, I`ll sit and smile serene.
The storm may bellow round the roof, I`ll bide beside the fire,
And many a scene of sail and trail within the flame I`ll see;
For I`ll have worn away the spur of passion and desire. . . .
Oh yes, when I am Sixty-five, what peace will come to me.

I`ll take my breakfast in my bed, I`ll rise at half-past ten,
When all the world is nicely groomed and full of golden song;
I`ll smoke a bit and joke a bit, and read the news, and then
I`ll potter round my peach-trees till I hear the luncheon gong.
And after that I think I`ll doze an hour, well, maybe two,
And then I`ll show some kindred soul how well my roses thrive;
I`ll do the things I never yet have found the time to do. . . .
Oh, won`t I be the busy man when I am Sixty-five.

I`ll revel in my library; I`ll read De Morgan`s books;
I`ll grow so garrulous I fear you`ll write me down a bore;
I`ll watch the ways of ants and bees in quiet sunny nooks,
I`ll understand Creation as I never did before.
When gossips round the tea-cups talk I`ll listen to it all;
On smiling days some kindly friend will take me for a drive:
I`ll own a shaggy collie dog that dashes to my call:
I`ll celebrate my second youth when I am Sixty-five.

Ah, though I`ve twenty years to go, I see myself quite plain,
A wrinkling, twinkling, rosy-cheeked, benevolent old chap;
I think I`ll wear a tartan shawl and lean upon a cane.
I hope that I`ll have silver hair beneath a velvet cap.
I see my little grandchildren a-romping round my knee;
So gay the scene, I almost wish `twould hasten to arrive.
Let others sing of Youth and Spring, still will it seem to me
The golden time`s the olden time, some time round Sixty-five.
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