"Long Time a Child" by Hartley Coleridge

If you were to ask me to name the one poem with which I identify the most, it would be this one. And it has been, for many, many years. Hartley was Samuel Taylor Coleridge eldest son, so he had much to live up to! For me, with this one alone, he scored his place as a poet. The breaks are mine. The poem has long been presented as one verse. I have taken the liberty to do this for the sake of clarity. It is a beautiful, though sad, sentiment expressed with great skill.

LONG TIME A CHILD by Hartley Coleridge

Long time a child, and still a child, when years

had painted manhood on my cheek, was I,—

For yet I lived like one not born to die;

a thriftless prodigal of smiles and tears,

no hope I needed, and I knew no fears.

But sleep, though sweet, is only sleep, and waking,

I waked to sleep no more, at once o’ertaking

the vanguard of my age, with all arrears

of duty on my back. Nor child, nor man,

nor youth, nor sage, I find my head is grey.

For I have lost the race I never ran:

a rathe December blights my lagging May;

and still I am a child, tho’ I be old.

Time is my debtor for my years untold.

Thoughts on Turning 59

Today is my birthday. 59 years have passed since I made my entrance; almost in a cab as my parents did not own a car at the time; and it has been a wonderful ride ever since. But at 59 you start to look back and wonder about what you have accomplished in the time allotted, and hopefully you don’t find yourself falling too short of the intended mark.

I’m fairly content with my life. I would have liked to work for a few more years, but that just wasn't in the cards. So, when I add it all up, I’m pretty satisfied. Here are two poems; one by Hartley Coleridge, kin to Samuel Taylor Coleridge; and the other by yours truly. I believe I have posted them here before. But, since it’s my birthday; and my blog; I get to post them again if I want to.

The first speaks of regret at not having lived up to your own expectations. The other speaks of being content with what you have done, even if it falls short of what others expect of you. Naturally, I identify more with the latter, and is probably why I wrote it in the first place.

“Long Time a Child” by Hartley Coleridge  (1759)

Long time a child, and still a child, when years

Had painted manhood on my cheek, was I, -

For yet I lived like one not born to die;

A thriftless prodigal of smiles and tears,

No hope I needed, and I knew no fears.

But sleep, though sweet, is only sleep, and waking,

I waked to sleep no more, at once o'ertaking

The vanguard of my age, with all arrears

Of duty on my back. Nor child, nor man,

Nor youth, nor sage, I find my head is gray,

For I have lost the race I never ran:

A rathe December blights my lagging May;

And still I am a child, though I be old,

Time is my debtor for the years untold.

“Could’ve” by Robert Williams

I could’ve been much more than I am,

A King, or a Prince, not just a mere man.

But I spent my life doing just all that I could,

to get through the years doing not what I should.

And so in the finish, the questions I’ll ask;

Alone late at night in mirror’s mask;

Are “What if I weren't the man that I see?”, and

“Who would I be now – If I weren't me?”

Looking Back? A Musing.

It's been a lazy kind of day, didn't get much of anything done. Watching the rain has made me a bit reflective and I find myself looking back. That's me on the left, 35 years ago, looking forward, I suppose. I never did see anything there, but I was looking.

Life is strange, with twists and turns that take you down paths you didn't expect to find, let alone wander down. And then suddenly it's too late to turn around and do it over. You can find a new path, or alter the way you navigate the one that you're on, but for the most part, at this point- you're committed.

I spent a good part of the day speaking with old friends. Really old friends. Talking to them helps me gauge my own life. I know that sounds mercenary or self serving, but I think we all do it to some degree. And I came out with mixed feelings.

I haven't missed anything I wanted to do. I've sailed far and wide on 4 oceans to 3 continents. I've tasted all the things that came my way and enjoyed what I liked best when I could. And settled for less when I had to.

But now I'm at rest and time is winding down. I used to feel like the Hartley Coleridge poem "Long Time A Child."

Long time a child, and still a child,when years,
Had painted manhood on my cheek, was I,
For yet I lived like one not born to die;
A thriftless prodigal of smiles and tears,
No hope I needed, and I knew no fears.

But sleep, though sweet, is only sleep, and waking,
I waked to sleep no more, at once o'ertaking
The vanguard of my age, with all arrears
Of duty on my back.

Nor child, nor man, Nor youth, nor sage,
I find my head is gray,
For I have lost the race I never ran
A rathe December blights my lagging May
And still I am a child, though I be old,
Time is the debtor for my years untold.

But now I'm more inclined to feel like Emily Dickinson's "I'm Nobody."

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Good there's a pair of us — don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

Strange - I started looking back and now I find myself looking forward like the young man in the picture. I'm searching for that "next thing." I'm sure there's an unexpected path here somewhere.... It's all so, well, a musing.