In Yeats’s short lyric, a man looks back on a moment of youthful courtship. He has all the advantages—wisdom, charm, his beloved’s praise—and he speaks admiringly of her body and her mind until she glows with pride and pleasure. But despite all that praise, something in the air shifts: a cold, hostile cloud covers love’s moon, and the two fall into a weighted silence. They both feel, without saying it, that even the best love must end. The mood is intimate and rueful, almost theatrical, as if the two are acting in a scene they cannot control. Then a small, almost funny bird call breaks the spell, and love tears its bright moon back from the clouds. The ending is tender and wry: the grand emotions of romance are saved by something tiny and ordinary.
A Memory of Youth — Summary
The moments passed as at a play, I had the wisdom love brings forth; I had my share of mother wit And yet for all that I could say, And though I had her praise for it, A cloud blown from the cut-throat north Suddenly hid love's moon away.
Believing every word I said I praised her body and her mind Till pride had made her eyes grow bright, And pleasure made her cheeks grow red, And vanity her footfall light, Yet we, for all that praise, could find Nothing but darkness overhead.
We sat as silent as a stone, We knew, though she'd not said a word, That even the best of love must die, And had been savagely undone Were it not that love upon the cry Of a most ridiculous little bird Tore from the clouds his marvellous moon.