Do not pity the young

Who say the times are wrong,

But let them live alone

To starve or wait or die.

Let them crowd against the stone

As they have always done,

And no one hear their cry.

Or almost no one; almost die.

The wind not under the wall,

The cold not biting bone,

Is luck enough to befall

The neighbors' son and my son.

More they could not need,

Being ours and Adam's breed.

Do not pity the young.

Look, if the day allows,

At the light upon their brows.

Salute them passing us by,

The quick, the strict, the strong

Who will never wait, or die.

Sooner than we can say,

The young will have their way;

And have us, too, and be told

That none who live to be old

Have time to pity the young.