Poem of the Day: ‘To an Athlete Dying Young’

The New York Sun has run “When I Was One-and-Twenty,” “Epitaph on an Army of Mercenaries,” “Loveliest of trees, the cherry now,” and “The Oracles” by A.E. Housman (1859–1936). And along the way, we’ve called him the gold standard of modern verse for poets with a formalist bent, mentioning how easy he makes it all seem. Today’s Poem of the Day, “To an Athlete Dying Young,” is no exception. Perhaps Housman’s most-anthologized work, the poem is a masterclass in how to rhyme effortlessly and convey a thought with exceptional neatness. The thought itself is typical of Housman’s grim sense of life and death and his cynicism about the tributes of the world. In seven quatrains formed from tetrameter couplets, “To an Athlete Dying Young” reads easy and goes down smooth. But its argument is that, for those who have achieved an early fame, it may be wise to die young: “Eyes the shady night has shut / Cannot see the record cut,” Housman says of his young athlete. “Now you will not swell the rout / Of lads that wore their honours out, / Runners whom renown outran / And the name died before the man.”The thought is not a particularly deep one, and it probably isn’t true. But it captures a mood — an errant notion that one would have to be less than fully human not to have had — about decline from the high points of life. It’s the theme of pop songs and movies about the lives of, say, high-school football stars after high school. Housman just does it better and more neatly.To an Athlete Dying Youngby A.E. HousmanThe time you won your town the raceWe chaired you through the market-place;Man and boy stood cheering by,And home we brought you shoulder-high.Today, the road all runners come,Shoulder-high we bring you home,And set you at your threshold down,Townsman of a stiller town.Smart lad, to slip betimes awayFrom fields where glory does not stay,And early though the laurel growsIt withers quicker than the rose.Eyes the shady night has shutCannot see the record cut,And silence sounds no worse than cheersAfter earth has stopped the ears.Now you will not swell the routOf lads that wore their honours out,Runners whom renown outranAnd the name died before the man.So set, before its echoes fade,The fleet foot on the sill of shade,And hold to the low lintel upThe still-defended challenge-cup.And round that early-laurelled headWill flock to gaze the strengthless dead,And find unwithered on its curlsThe garland briefer than a girl’s.___________________________________________With “Poem of the Day,” The New York Sun offers a daily portion of verse selected by Joseph Bottum with the help of the North Carolina poet Sally Thomas, the Sun’s associate poetry editor. Tied to the day, or the season, or just individual taste, the poems are drawn from the deep traditions of English verse: the great work of the past and the living poets who keep those traditions alive. The goal is always to show that poetry can still serve as a delight to the ear, an instruction to the mind, and a tonic for the soul.

Poem of the Day: ‘To an Athlete Dying Young’

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