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Date Posted: 02:54:16 07/07/04 Wed
Author: jim clark london england
Subject: Young and Old by Charles Kingsley (listen online)

Charles Kingsley (1819-1875) was born in Devon in the west of England and was the son of a vicar He studied at University college London, before finishing his studies at Magdalene College, Cambridge. It was there he met, fell in love and later married Fanny Grenfell. In 1842 he read for holy orders, and became curate of Eversley Church in Hampshire in May 1844, a few months after he had married Fanny in January 1844. He went on to help form the Christian Socialist Movement, which argued that religion and politics were intertwined where he was active both in support and writings.The movement strove to improve conditions for the poverty stricken working classes. He was also a keen childrens writer; writing The Water Babies in 1862 (from which this poem is taken); for which history will perhaps most fondly remember him. The joys of youth and the grim prospect of old age are something we all must bare, but lets hope we have enough joyful memories so that in our old age we can look back and enjoy the happiness of once being young.


Heres the link to the page and website where you can listen online to this and many other classic poems set to music..

http://tinyurl.com/2gvkq

Regards.

Jim Clark
PS..Dont forget you can if you prefer listen to my sound poems at my Yahoo "sound poetry" web groups (look in "files") heres that link.. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/bloozman_uk/
You can listen to this particular poem in my second yahoo "Soundpoemz" sound poetry group heres that link.. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/soundpoemz/


all rights are reserved on this sound recording/copyright/patent Jim Clark 2004



Young and Old

When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen;
Then hey for boot and horse, lad,
And round the world away;
Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog his day.

When all the world is old, lad,
And all the trees are brown;
And all the sport is stale, lad,
And all the wheels run down;
Creep home, and take you place there,
The spent and maimed among:
God grant you find one face there,
You loved when all was young

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