“What can an old man do but die?”

SPRING it is cheery, Winter is dreary, Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly; When he ’s forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die? Love will not clip him, Maids will not lip him, Maud and Marian pass him by; Youth it is sunny, Age has no honey,— What can an old man do but die? June it was jolly, O for its folly! A dancing leg and a laughing eye! Youth may be silly, Wisdom is chilly,— What can an old man do but die? Friends they are scanty, Beggars are plenty, If he has followers, I know why; Gold ’s in his clutches (Buying him crutches!)— What can an old man do but die?

Collection:

English

1819

Thomas Hood

Sub Title:

III. Adversity

More from Poet

Nocturnal Sketch Blank Verse in Rhyme EVEN is come; and from the dark Park, hark, The signal of the setting sun—one gun! And six is sounding from the chime, prime time To go and see the Drury-Lane Dane slain,— Or hear Othello’s jealous doubt spout out,— Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade, Denying to his...	The Art of Book-Keeping How hard, when those who do not wish To lend, thus lose, their books, Are snared by anglers—folks that fish With literary hooks— Who call and take some favorite tome, But never read it through; They thus complete their set at home By making one at you. I, of my “Spenser” quite bereft,...	Faithless Sally Brown Young Ben he was a nice young man, A carpenter by trade; And he fell in love with Sally Brown, That was a lady’s maid. But as they fetched a walk one day, They met a press-gang crew; And Sally she did faint away, Whilst Ben he was brought to. The boatswain swore with wicked words...	Faithless Nelly Gray A Pathetic Ballad BEN BATTLE was a soldier bold, And used to war’s alarms; But a cannon-ball took off his legs, So he laid down his arms. Now as they bore him off the field, Said he, “Let others shoot; For here I leave my second leg, And the Forty-second Foot.” The army-surgeons made him...
Morning Meditations Let Taylor preach, upon a morning breezy, How well to rise while nights and larks are flying— For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying. What if the lark does carol in the sky, Soaring beyond the sight to find him out,— Wherefore am I to rise at such a fly...