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The Song Of The Happy Shepherd Analysis



Author: poem of William Butler Yeats Type: poem Views: 19

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The woods of Arcady are dead,

And over is their antique joy;

Of old the world on dreaming fed;

Grey Truth is now her painted toy;

Yet still she turns her restless head:

But O, sick children of the world,

Of all the many changing things

In dreary dancing past us whirled,

To the cracked tune that Chronos sings,

Words alone are certain good.

Where are now the warring kings,

Word be-mockers? - By the Rood,

Where are now the watring kings?

An idle word is now their glory,

By the stammering schoolboy said,

Reading some entangled story:

The kings of the old time are dead;

The wandering earth herself may be

Only a sudden flaming word,

In clanging space a moment heard,

Troubling the endless reverie.

Then nowise worship dusty deeds,

Nor seek, for this is also sooth,

To hunger fiercely after truth,

Lest all thy toiling only breeds

New dreams, new dreams; there is no truth

Saving in thine own heart.  Seek, then,

No learning from the starry men,

Who follow with the optic glass

The whirling ways of stars that pass -

Seek, then, for this is also sooth,

No word of theirs - the cold star-bane

Has cloven and rent their hearts in twain,

And dead is all their human truth.

Go gather by the humming sea

Some twisted, echo-harbouring shell.

And to its lips thy story tell,

And they thy comforters will be.

Rewording in melodious guile

Thy fretful words a little while,

Till they shall singing fade in ruth

And die a pearly brotherhood;

For words alone are certain good:

Sing, then, for this is also sooth.

I must be gone:  there is a grave

Where daffodil and lily wave,

And I would please the hapless faun,

Buried under the sleepy ground,

With mirthful songs before the dawn.

His shouting days with mirth were crowned;

And still I dream he treads the lawn,

Walking ghostly in the dew,

Pierced by my glad singing through,

My songs of old earth's dreamy youth:

But ah! she dreams not now; dream thou!

For fair are poppies on the brow:

Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.






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||| Analysis | Critique | Overview Below |||

.: :.

Can't expain in any words, but those faces just bring the gieggls out of me...life would be horrible without them. As for love, I shall keep on chasing it until I can't move anymore! Thanks for your sweet words of joy.

| Posted on 2013-11-15 | by a guest


.: :.

MartinI tend to worry about whether I'm mankig my time count, whether I'm investing my energy in the right things, and what kind of legacy if any I will leave behind. The fear that I'm not mankig proper use of my time causes me guilt and anxiety and tends to make me freeze up rather than opening my eyes to a new kind of wonder. Somehow all this seems counter-productive.I once read somewhere that to have a full and meaningful life one should aspire to have each moment full and meaningful. While having each moment actually live up to the highest ideal is impossible, perhaps I could see how I can make each moment as good as possible without worrying so much whether they all add up to some kind of great purpose. x x

| Posted on 2013-11-14 | by a guest


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Cool! Yes, I think lots of Irish poets & musicians take from yeats and so much of his stuff is so salnibge, melodic, rhythmic I am well but I miss you!

| Posted on 2013-11-13 | by a guest


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When God in His infinite wiodsm, and grace, our lives he does extend. Brings depth into our gaze, and with wiodsm lines our face. Then do we understand, why he has brought us forth. Since before we were concieved A terrible beauty is born . i.e. To Be To The Praise Of His Glory.My thoughts upon the real truth of Yeats' verse, antepolitical and neo-protestant.Sorry it doesn't rhyme better.How are you Jimmy?With love and hugs for you and all of yours.-Bruce

| Posted on 2013-11-12 | by a guest


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Well it\'s a poem that creates a contrast between the old and the new.
\"The woods of Arcady are dead,
And over is their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Grey Truth is now her painted toy;\"
Arcadia is the home of the Greek God Pan, the god of wild, shepherds and nature. It also refers to an pastoral utopia that is in harmony with nature. By saying arcady is dead it constructs the idea of the ever modernizing society destroying the lifestyle we enjoyed in the country and wilderness to a more urban, town or city kind of lifestyle. \"Antique joy\" symbolizes that there is enjoyment in the old way living in the wilderness but it\'s now outdated. Grey truth being a painted toy is saying the old values and traditions we had have are now something the new generations taking over can play with as if it was a \"painted toy\".
\"No learning from the starry men,
Who follow with the optic glass
The whirling ways of stars that pass\"
These lines also look at the old ways of doing things, and in the past when people looked for guidance they used the stars to predict things. Even now astrology is still around and there are people that believe in the truth behind horoscopes. Yeats repeated claims \"words are certain good\", they serve as a better form of guidance. We can learn and gain guidance from stories about \"watring kings\" and other kinds of stories that will comfort, etc that are better than astrology. I\'m not entirely sure, anyone else got something?

| Posted on 2013-03-30 | by a guest


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hehehehehehehehe! well I gave it my all. May someone please leave a response and/or their analysis of the Song of the Happy Shepherd by W. H. Yeats.

| Posted on 2008-08-02 | by a guest


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I'm not sure but I believe this is about a man who, throughout his life tries to discover the secrets of the universe. He tries to find it in stories,kings of old,dusty deeds, stars, and an echo-harbearing shell. Finally he then concludes that only through death does an individual learn the ultimate truths of this vast ever-changing universe. p.s. i'm only 14 so cut me some slack! I at least tried.

| Posted on 2008-08-02 | by a guest




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