The speaker thinks back to youth as a breeze drifting through blossoms, life going a-maying with hope, nature, and poetry—everything felt weightless and alive. Then comes the body’s heavy betrayal. Once it flashed lightly over cliffs and glittering sands; now it’s a cramped, breathing house that grieves him. The change stings so sharply that he can hardly believe youth is truly gone. He pictures Youth as a bold masker who has simply slipped into a disguise—silvery locks, a drooping gait—while still keeping springtime on the lips and sunlight in the eyes. With stubborn tenderness, he declares they are housemates still. Yet the poem’s final image darkens. Hope falls away, and life becomes a tedious guest who has long outstayed its welcome, telling jokes without the smile. The mood is wistful and aching, trembling between fond denial and quiet sorrow.
Youth And Age — Summary
Verse, a Breeze 'mid blossoms straying, Where HOPE clung feeding, like a bee-- Both were mine ! Life went a-maying With NATURE, HOPE, and POESY, [Image][Image]When I was young !
When I was young ?--Ah, woful WHEN ! Ah ! for the Change 'twixt Now and Then ! This breathing House not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er жry Cliffs and glittering Sands, How lightly then it flashed along :-- Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding lakes and rivers wide, That ask no aid of Sail or Oar, That fear no spite of Wind or Tide ! Nought cared this Body for wind or weather When YOUTH and I lived in't together.
FLOWERS are lovely ; LOVE is flower-like ; FRIENDSHIP is a sheltering tree ; O ! the Joys, that came down shower-like, Of FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, and LIBERTY, [Image] [Image] [Image] [Image] Ere I was old !
Ere I was old ? Ah woful ERE, Which tells me, YOUTH'S no longer here ! O YOUTH ! for years so many and sweet, 'Tis known, that Thou and I were one, I'll think it but a fond conceit-- It cannot be that Thou art gone ! Thy Vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd :-- And thou wert aye a Masker bold ! What strange Disguise hast now put on, To make believe, that thou art gone ? I see these Locks in silvery slips, This drooping Gait, this altered Size : But SPRINGTIDE blossoms on thy Lips, And Tears take sunshine from thine eyes ! Life is but Thought : so think I will That YOUTH and I are House-mates still.
Dew-drops are the gems of morning, But the tears of mournful eve ! Where no hope is, life's a warning That only serves to make us grieve, [Image][Image]When we are old :
That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking-leave, Like some poor nigh-related guest, That may not rudely be dismist ; Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while, And tells the jest without the smile.