To an Athlete Dying Young
by Alfred Edward Housman
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
To-day, 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 away
From fields were glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:
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.
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.
And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl's.
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The theme is similar to that of the story of Achilles (die young in war and live forever, or die old but be forgotten)
Or even more alike: The story of Cleobis and Biton (search for the names on the following page)
[
www.classicalmythology.org]
His motive to write this could have been anything. He read something about a young athlete dying for example, and wrote this as comfort, like an eulogy. Maybe he knew the athlete. Or maybe he just invented it.