Old men are full of zest and information,

And they remember all they ever thought.

Old men are vigorous in conversation.

Young men exist to listen and be taught.

Old men give dates that may not be disputed,

And they remember parts old actors played.

A young man's fact is easily refuted:

He was not present when the world was made.

Old men are heartily opinionated.

Whatever young men do, the old have done

In better ways that have not deviated.

The legend lies, that old men sit in the sun.

Old men, in great ambition unabated,

Stand proudly on their heads at eighty-one.

Young men are thin and shy, which is no wonder:

Young men need rest, and life allows them none.

The old men storm at them for every blunder:

Nothing is right young men have ever done.

Young men who tell a story twitch and stutter.

Their ears are large and red. Their hands are cold.

They speak too loud, or, in despair, they mutter,

And feel discouraged when the story's told.

Old men resent solicitude and hearses.

All they abstained from doing they regret.

Old men betrayed into the hands of nurses

Despise the scientific care they get,

And vow disgracefully, with terrible curses,

That they'll outlive the meddling woman yet.