So I filled my glass, and I filled their glasses, over and over again,
And I sang and danced and drank, and drank and danced and sang,
And I heard them cry, 'He is a sport, a good sport!'
As they held their glasses out to be filled again.
And I was very glad.

Oh the madness of youth and song and dance and wine,
Of woman's eyes and lips, when the night dies in the arms of dawn!
And now I wish I had not gone that way.
Now I wish I had not heard them say,
'He is a sport, a good sport!'
For I am old who should be young.
The splendid vigour of my youth I flung
Under the feet of a mad, unthinking throng.
My strength went out with wine and dance and song;
Unto the winds of earth I tossed like chaff,
With idle jest and laugh,
The pride of splendid manhood, all its wealth
Of unused power and health -
Its dream of looking into some pure girl's eyes
And finding there its earthly paradise -
Its hope of virile children free from blight -
Its thoughts of climbing to some noble height
Of great achievement--all these gifts divine
I cast away for song and dance and wine.
Oh, I have been a sport, a good sport;
But I am very sad.