Old men at the end of a life of violence,

And like Ulysses home again at last,

May sun themselves in senile innocence --

It may be they relive in peace the past --

But I think, if I were old, and over the heat

And tumult after wards, and the sudden raid,

Done with the challenge flung and the restless feat,

And early love, and a harsh trick played,

Done with the brawl I swore could never cease.

My heart would sink, and not with weight of peace,

But thoughts of the younger men I would never break,

Of girls too young or nights of lying awake,

And the bitter thought it is never to be again.

Never, never. Old man among old men.