Growing Old
What is it to grow old?Is it to lose the glory of the form,The lustre of the eye?Is it for beauty to forego her wreath?--Yes, but not this alone.
Is it to feel our strength--Not our bloom only, but our strength--decay?Is it to feel each limbGrow stiffer, every function less exact,Each nerve more loosely strung?
Yes, this, and more; but not,Ah! ’tis not what in youth we dreamed ’twould be.’Tis not to have our lifeMellowed and softened as with sunset-glow,--A golden day’s decline.
’Tis not to see the worldAs from a height, with rapt prophetic eyes,And heart profoundly stirred;And weep, and feel the fulness of the past,The years that are no more.
It is to spend long days,And not once feel that we were ever young;It is to add, immuredIn the hot prison of the present, monthTo month with weary pain.
It is to suffer this,And feel but half, and feebly, what we feel.Deep in our hidden heartFesters the dull remembrance of a change,But no emotion,--none.
It is--last stage of all--When we are frozen up within, and quiteThe phantom of ourselves,To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost,Which blamed the living man.
Words in this poem
- lustre n.
- A period of five years; a lustrum. [L. lustrum: cf. F. lustre.]
- forego v. t.
- To quit; to relinquish; to leave. [See Forgo.]
- rapt n.
- An ecstasy; a trance. Bp. Morton. [From F. rapt abduction, rape, L. raptus, fr. rapere to seize and carry off, to transport; or fr. E. rapt, a. See Rapt, a., and Rapid.]
- profoundly adv.
- In a profound manner.
- ghost n.
- The spirit; the soul of man. [OE. gast, gost, soul, spirit, AS. gast breath, spirit, soul; akin to OS. g spirit, soul, D. geest, G. geist, and prob. to E. gaze, ghastly.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Growing Old is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #54985; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Matthew Arnold, Growing Old, in Poems (1849–1867), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #54985, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/arnold-poems/growing-old.html, id L07021.
Form and metre
Growing Old is 35 lines in 7 verse paragraphs. It is unrhymed, as far as the pronouncing dictionary can tell. The metre is iambic trimeter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 88%). 95% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.8 syllables. 2 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 20% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic trimeter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic trimeter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| What is it to grow old? | 6 | ······ |
| Is it to lose the glory of the form, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| The lustre of the eye? | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Is it for beauty to forego her wreath? | 10 | ···/˘·˘/·· |
| --Yes, but not this alone. | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Is it to feel our strength-- | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Not our bloom only, but our strength--decay? | 10 | ·/·/˘·/·˘/ |
| Is it to feel each limb | 6 | ······ |
| Grow stiffer, every function less exact, | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘·˘/ |
| Each nerve more loosely strung? | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Yes, this, and more; but not, | 6 | ······ |
| Ah! ’tis not what in youth we dreamed ’twould be. | 10 | ·········· |
| ’Tis not to have our life | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Mellowed and softened as with sunset-glow,-- | 10 | /˘·/˘··/·· |
| A golden day’s decline. | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| ’Tis not to see the world | 6 | ······ |
| As from a height, with rapt prophetic eyes, | 10 | ······˘/˘· |
| And heart profoundly stirred; | 7 | ··˘/˘·˘ |
| And weep, and feel the fulness of the past, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| The years that are no more. | 6 | ······ |
| It is to spend long days, | 6 | ······ |
| And not once feel that we were ever young; | 9 | ·······/· |
| It is to add, immured | 7 | ······˘ |
| In the hot prison of the present, month | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| To month with weary pain. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| It is to suffer this, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And feel but half, and feebly, what we feel. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Deep in our hidden heart | 7 | ··/˘/˘· |
| Festers the dull remembrance of a change, | 10 | /˘··˘/˘··· |
| But no emotion,--none. | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| It is--last stage of all-- | 6 | ······ |
| When we are frozen up within, and quite | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| The phantom of ourselves, | 7 | ·/˘·˘˘/ |
| To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost, | 10 | ····˘/·/˘· |
| Which blamed the living man. | 7 | ··˘·/˘· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.