Retirement Poems

Popular Retirement Poems
On Retirement
by Philip Freneau

A HERMIT'S house beside a stream
With forests planted round,
Whatever it to you may seem
More real happiness I deem
Than if I were a monarch crowned.

A cottage I could call my own
Remote from domes of care;
A little garden, walled with stone,
The wall with ivy overgrown,


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Sam Goes To It
by Marriott Edgar

Sam Small had retired from the Army,
In the old Duke of Wellington's time,
So when present unpleasantness started,
He were what you might call... past his prime.

He'd lived for some years in retirement,
And knew nowt of war, if you please,
Till they blasted and bombed his allotment,
And shelled the best part of his peas.


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The Deserted Village
by Oliver Goldsmith

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest visits paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed:
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, where every sport could please,
How often have I loitered o'er your green,
Where humble happiness endeared each scene;
How often have I paused on every charm,
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,


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Calling Lucasta From Her Retirement. Ode
by Richard Lovelace

From the dire monument of thy black roome,
Wher now that vestal flame thou dost intombe,
As in the inmost cell of all earths wombe.

Sacred Lucasta, like the pow'rfull ray
Of heavenly truth, passe this Cimmerian way,
Whilst all the standards of your beames display.


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On Retirement
by Joan Sacre

Gosh! Oh gee! I'm an O.A.P.
Oh what am I going to do,
I have worked all my life,
Through trouble and strife,
And feel just a little bit blue I just cannot retire,
I still have lots of fire,
And plenty of vigour and vim,
I can dance, and can sing,
Do most everything
But alas never learned to swim. I can waltz, do the tango,


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Recent Retirement Poems
Goodbye Youth Hello Life
by Dr. Robert Ippaso

They say youth is but momentary,
An emotional journey, a fleeting mirage,
Where uncharted waters are a treat not a foil
Tempered only by fates willful barrage.

But as time marches on and life settles in
with a rhythm well known and rehearsed,
A mixture of joy, tedium and tears
To the beat of our life we're soon versed.


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Slow Motion
by Evelyn Judy Buehler

My zealous passion for marathons, had me in frequent races,
Striving always for that finish line, and touring many places.

I always seemed to come alive, with cool breezes rushing by,
Feeling footloose and fancy-free, like blackbirds in a blue sky.

And when I crossed the finish line, I would get a certain thrill,
Like a thrilling moonlit evening, as you hear the whippoorwill!

I was in the midst of happy days, like magnolias awash in sun,


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by William Wordsworth

A pen--to register; a key--
That winds through secret wards
Are well assigned to Memory
By allegoric Bards.

As aptly, also, might be given
A Pencil to her hand;
That, softening objects, sometimes even
Outstrips the heart's demand;


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by Henry Vaughan

Fresh fields and woods! the Earth's fair face,
God's foot-stool, and man's dwelling-place.
I ask not why the first Believer
Did love to be a country liver?
Who to secure pious content
Did pitch by groves and wells his tent;
Where he might view the boundless sky,
And all those glorious lights on high;
With flying meteors, mists and show'rs,
Subjected hills, trees, meads and flow'rs;


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Upon The Priory Grove, His Usual Retirement
by Henry Vaughan

Hail sacred shades! cool, leavy House!
Chaste treasurer of all my vows,
And wealth! on whose soft bosom laid
My love's fair steps I first betrayed:
Henceforth no melancholy flight,
No sad wing, or hoarse bird of night,
Disturb this air, no fatal throat
Of raven, or owl, awake the note
Of our laid echo, no voice dwell
Within these leaves, but Philomel.


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