Growing Old by Matthew Arnold
Growing Old by Matthew Arnold
Growing Old by Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold
Is it to lose the glory of the form, 10 syllables And not once feel that we were ever young;
Is it for beauty to forgo her wreath? 10 syllables In the hot prison of the present, month
—Yes, but not this alone. 6 syllables To month with weary pain.
Not our bloom only, but our strength—decay? And feel but half, and feebly, what we feel.
Grow stiffer, every function less exact, Festers the dull remembrance of a change,
Ah, ’tis not what in youth we dreamed ’twould be! When we are frozen up within, and quite
Mellowed and softened as with sunset glow, To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost
Repetition
Alliteration