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Thread: Can someone help me out, please...

  1. #1
    Be. white camellia's Avatar
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    Can someone help me out, please...

    I got trapped in bonds of comprehension to one poem from Lord Byron. Merely a vague lineament did I see, so hard for me to translate it...Can you please give me your understanding of it, especially for the first two stanzas! Here it is:

    Youth and Age

    There’s not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,
    When the glow of early thought declines in feeling’s dull decay;
    ‘Tis not on youth’s smooth cheek the blush alone which fades so fast,
    But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.

    Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness
    Are driven o’er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess:
    The Magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain
    The shore to which their shiver’d sail shall never stretch again.

    Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down;
    It cannot feel for others’ woes, it dare not dream its own;
    That heavy chill has frozen o’er the fountain of our tear,
    And though the eye may sparkle still, ‘tis where the ice appears.

    Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,
    Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest;
    ‘Tis but as ivy leaves around the ruin’d turret wreathe,
    All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath.

    O could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been,
    Or weep as I could once have wept o’er many a vanish’d scene,---
    As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,
    So midst the wither’d waste of life, those tears would flow to me!

    --George G. Byron (1788-1824)
    There is no polite way
    of being happy

  2. #2
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    Nice poem! I love Byron, but I hadn't seen this one yet. Not sure if the help is still needed, but perhaps a little interpretation can't do any harm. Besides, it will revive this thread and hopefully more will get to read this beautiful poem (again)

    =======
    The world cannot give the same joy to us as that which we are born with. Before we have even grown old ("ere youth itself be passed"), the joy in our hearts has already faded away.

    Despite this, there might still be few people who feel themselves above unhappiness (as in, they still feel happy), but soon even they will have to succumb to the reality of joylessness. The reason is that they are thrown into feelings of guilt (possibly by others around them for feeling happy) or "ocean of excess" (could this be alcohol/sex? Knowing Byron ). And because of the latter, sooner or later their high spirits will go down like everyone else and never rise again ("their shiver’d sail shall never stretch again").

    Something like that.

  3. #3
    Be. white camellia's Avatar
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    Nice poem! I love Byron, but I hadn't seen this one yet. Not sure if the help is still needed, but perhaps a little interpretation can't do any harm. Besides, it will revive this thread and hopefully more will get to read this beautiful poem (again)
    --Very constructive and pleasant!
    And I'm taken by his works, even more by the spirit in his thoughts and language-Among those passive and active romanticists, as one of the latter, his courage stood out, greatly diverged from Wordsworth, whose prosody proved 'unintelligible' in his eyes, sometimes he wrote with an ironic tongue, everything exposed for you to experience.

    The world cannot give the same joy to us as that which we are born with.
    -We are born with JOY? Do you mean the joy in heaven?

    The reason is that they are thrown into feelings of guilt (possibly by others around them for feeling happy) or "ocean of excess" (could this be alcohol/sex? Knowing Byron .
    -Very insightful!
    There is no polite way
    of being happy

  4. #4
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    Maybe not born with it, but certainly something like: all the good things the world gives it can also take away. Could be love, a woman, or simply youth (or youthful love).

  5. #5
    English is our salvation. Culturist's Avatar
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    Splendid poem you posted here.

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