A young voice asks what old age will be like—whether it will be dark, fearful, hopeless, and cut off from love and spring. The answering voice, perhaps age itself, keeps replying “Not at all, not at all, my pretty dear,” but every comfort it offers is oddly small. Hope and desire shrink to sitting by the fire. Being loved shrinks to dozing with bread and cheese. The springing grass becomes a little warm ale. The tone sounds gentle, even affectionate, yet also patronizing. The repeated “my pretty dear” suggests the young questioner cannot really understand what is being lost. The poem’s mood is wry and bittersweet: aging is not presented as terrifying, but life narrows into tiny, almost mocking pleasures. Even the final fear—not hearing the first thrushes—is waved away with the same empty reassurance, leaving the reader to feel the sadness underneath the comfort.
Youth and Age — Summary
Say, is it dim and grim and all full of fear? Not at all, not at all, my pretty dear. Will there be no hope? Nothing to desire? You shall be comforted sitting by the fire. Will no one look at me? love me, if I please? You shall doze happy with a little bread and cheese. Even the springing grass--will it look pale? You shall be gladdened with a little warm ale. Shall I be trembling and querulous of tongue? You shall be wiser than anybody young. When the first thrushes sing, shall I not hear? Not at all, not at all, my pretty dear.