I Look into my Glass

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

With equanimity.


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 ?

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