The Project Gutenberg eBook, Greybeards at Play, by G. K. Chesterton

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Title: Greybeards at Play

Author: G. K. Chesterton

Release Date: January 16, 2005 [eBook #14706]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREYBEARDS AT PLAY***

E-text prepared by Robert Shimmin, William Flis, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team

Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 14706-h.htm or 14706-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/4/7/0/14706/14706-h/14706-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/4/7/0/14706/14706-h.zip)

GREYBEARDS AT PLAY

Literature And Art For Old Gentlemen

Rhymes and Sketches by

GILBERT CHESTERTON

London: R. Brimley Johnson
8, York Buildings, Adelphi

1900

A DEDICATION

TO E.C.B.

He was, through boyhood's storm and shower,
My best, my nearest friend;
We wore one hat, smoked one cigar,
One standing at each end.

We were two hearts with single hope,
Two faces in one hood;
I knew the secrets of his youth;
I watched his every mood.

The little things that none but I
Saw were beyond his wont,
The streaming hair, the tie behind,
The coat tails worn in front.

I marked the absent-minded scream,
The little nervous trick
Of rolling in the grate, with eyes
By friendship's light made quick.

But youth's black storms are gone and past,
Bare is each aged brow;
And, since with age we're growing bald,
Let us be babies now.

Learning we knew; but still to-day,
With spelling-book devotion,
Words of one syllable we seek
In moments of emotion.

Riches we knew; and well dressed dolls--
Dolls living--who expressed
No filial thoughts, however much
You thumped them in the chest.

Old happiness is grey as we,
And we may still outstrip her;
If we be slippered pantaloons,
Oh let us hunt the slipper!

The old world glows with colours clear;
And if, as saith the saint,
The world is but a painted show,
Oh