Thomas Hardy Poem:
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
But Time, to make me grieve,
Part steals, lets part abide;
And shakes this fragile frame at eve
With throbbings of noontide.
I expect, like me, you thought by now to have learned to accept with stoic resolution the dimming to frailty of our senses in line with our weakened physical attributes.
Perhaps it takes our poets to speak the plain truth. I think – besides these words of Thomas Hardy – of Yeats, ‘Why should not old men be mad?’
Maybe I should not view those videos or listen to those majestic airs of Anna Netrebko …
On the other hand, why not? What else is there ?