• on 9th May, 2020

Favourite Poem, Hymn and Violin

From Freida:

In answer to Father Peter’s request for a favourite poem, favourite hymn and favourite violin piece here are my choices:-

Favourite Poem – ‘Youth and Age’ by Samuel Taylor Coleridge – This poem is said to be one of Coleridge’s most romantic poems contrasting youth and old age. The entire canvas of life changes as we grow old, and things take on a different meaning….and in spite of our perceived frailties it is our thoughts however which keep us young and hopeful.
I have adopted this poem which was often recited by my dearest mother who is in heaven. Each time I hear it or read it, it reminds me of her and brings back floods of loving memories especially the verse beginning:-

“Flowers are lovely; love is flower-like; Friendship is a sheltering tree; O! the Joys, that came down shower-like of Friendship, love and liberty, Ere I was old! Ere I was old? Ah woeful Ere, which tells me, Youth’s no longer here! O Youth! for years so many and sweet, ‘Tis known that thou and I were one, I’ll think it but a fond conceit – It cannot be that thou art gone!

Youth and Age

Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee—
Both were mine! Life went a-maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young!
When I was young?—Ah, woful When!
Ah! for the change ‘twixt Now and Then!
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O’er aery cliffs and glittering sands,
How lightly then it flashed along:—
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
When Youth and I lived in’t together.
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
O! the joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,
Ere I was old!
Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere,
Which tells me, Youth’s no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet,
‘Tis known, that Thou and I were one,
I’ll think it but a fond conceit—
It cannot be that Thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll’d:—
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe, that thou are gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this altered size:
But Spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still.
Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life’s a warning
That only serves to make us grieve,
When we are old:
That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest,
That may not rudely be dismist;
Yet hath outstay’d his welcome while,
And tells the jest without the smile.

 

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