Tuesday, May 15, 2001

A Song Comments

Rating: 2.9

I THOUGHT no more was needed
Youth to polong
Than dumb-bell and foil
To keep the body young.

...

William Butler Yeats
COMMENTS
Kumarmani Mahakul 16 December 2020

Desire is not lost. Hope is still alive. We live with greater hope and responsibility. This poem is very interestingly penned. A nice song of the day today we have found.

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Khairul Ahsan 16 December 2020

My views are similar to those of Robert Murray Smith's. A selected poem of a famous poet should not contain typographical error and remain unedited this long. The low rating given to this poem goes not to the poet but the selector(s) .

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Mahtab Bangalee 16 December 2020

I have not lost desire But the heart that I had; I thOught 'twould burn my body Laid on the death-bed, For who could have foretold That the heart grows old? /// beautiful poem penned; growing old mind can do nothing for self and others; haggard mind can do nothing for the welfare being of the country or universe; indeed always the active green youthful mind is the power of the universe even in it is on the chariot of old age/// great poem penned on the praising of youth foretold

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Alone Soulmate 16 December 2020

the heart does not grow old when you are with your soulmate it does when you are alone have u found your soulmate

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Luis Estable 16 December 2020

, Yes the heart ages, too, despise of our romantic nations of it.

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Gangadharan Nair Pulingat 16 December 2020

A great poem from Yeats I likes

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Edward Kofi Louis 16 April 2018

At her side! ! Thanks for sharing.

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Nudershada Cabanes 16 April 2018

For who could have foretold That the heart grows old? No one can foretell the future. Aging is an experience to be lived and enjoyed.

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Savita Tyagi 16 April 2018

Life unfolds as we walk through it. None of forsee much though it has been there before us and would be there after us. What we experience is the only thing that matters.

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Anil Kumar Panda 16 April 2018

Everyone is going to be old and die. Nice poem. Enjoyed.

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Kumarmani Mahakul 16 April 2018

It would burn the body at death bed but can't burn the soul. A beautiful poem shared. It is nice to be choosen POD.

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Robert Murray Smith 16 April 2018

This poem has been presented with typographical errors. I am not pleased that this is so. The poem itself is second rate not worthy of this category.

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Perdita Young 16 April 2018

Typos are eyesores to me.Agree with you in that it 's not a best from Yeats. Glad to read him here, though.

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Bernard F. Asuncion 16 April 2018

Such a great song by William Butler Yeats??????

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Ruta Mohapatra 16 April 2018

The last two lines are so memorable!

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Ratnakar Mandlik 16 April 2017

who could have foretold that the heart grows old? Nice question.

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Lantz Pierre 16 April 2017

Andrew Hoellering's critique below is enlightening. It's refreshing to come across a comment on a poem here that actually has something to say. A comment that demonstrates the person read the poem, thought through it and even made connections with other texts. Critical thinking is a beautiful thing.

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Edward Kofi Louis 16 April 2017

Foretold! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.

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Bernard F. Asuncion 16 April 2017

Many words... thanks for posting....

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Tapan M. Saren 16 April 2017

A very nice song indeed...........

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Andrew Hoellering 14 December 2009

There is an interesting contrast here with Thomas Hardy's great poem, 'I Look into my Mirror.' I LOOK into my glass, And view my wasting skin, And say, 'Would God it came to pass My heart had shrunk as thin! ' For then, I, undistrest By hearts grown cold to me, Could lonely wait my endless rest With equanimity. But Time, to make me grieve, Part steals, lets part abide; And shakes this fragile frame at eve With throbbings of noontide. Yeats laments that the heart grows old, even though one keeps the body in shape. He still feels sexual desire, but regrets that he is unable to satisfy it in others.He in fact mourns the death of the heart, without specifying exactly where it lies. Hardy's poem is a complete contrast.Looking into his mirror, he objectively notes the destruction wrought by age and wishes that his capacity to feel had diminished alongside with his features. The second verse tells us that what hurts most is the falling off of affection towards him; the felt loss of love from those who mean most to him. He notes that bodily and emotional decrepitude - the capacity to feel and care –do not go hand in hand; one dies piecemeal. The ‘throbbings of noontide’ refers not just to memories but to this lasting capacity to feel and care. So much in three verses, using ballad form and a simple abab rhyme scheme, is itself a definition of genius.

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