Is it to lose the glory of the form, Is it for beauty to forego her wreath?
Not our bloom only, but our strength -decay?
Grow stiffer, every function less exact,
Ah, 'tis not what in youth we dreamed 'twould be!
Mellowed and softened as with sunset-glow,
As from a height, with rapt prophetic eyes,
And weep, and feel the fulness of the past,
And not once feel that we were ever young.
In the hot prison of the present, month
And feel but half, and feebly, what we feel:
Festers the dull remembrance of a change,
When we are frozen up within, and quite
To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost
I. In Matthew Arnold's Growing Old, we begin with a question from the speaker: "What is it to grow old?" In the subsequent seven stanzas, the speaker will attempt to answer this question for us. In the first two stanzas, he describes a