The Conqueror

Room for me, graybeard, room, make room!
Menace me not with you eyes of gloom;
Jostle me not from the place I seek,
For my arms are strong and your own are weak,

And if my plea to you be denied
I'll thrust your wearying forms aside.
Pity you? Yes, but I cannot stay;
I am the spirit of Youth; make way!

Room for me, timid ones, room, make room!
Little I care for your fret and fume--
I dare whatever is mine to meet,
I laugh at sorrow and jeer defeat;

To doubt and doubters I give the lie,
And fear is stilled as I swagger by,
And life's a fight and I seek the fray;
I am the spirit of Youth; make way.

Room for me, mighty ones, room, make room!
I fear no power and dread no doom;
And you who curse me and you who bless
Alike must bow to my dauntlessness.

I topple the king from his golden throne,
I smash old idols of brass and stone,
I am not hampered by yesterday.
Room for the spirit of Youth; make way!

Room for me, all of you, make me room!
Where the rifles clash and the cannon boom,
Where the glory beckons or love or fame
I plunge me heedlessly in the game.

The old, the wary, the wise, the great,
They cannot stay me, for I am Fate,
The brave young master of all good play,
I am the spirit of Youth; make way!