Perhaps my favorite poem—when you are old by W.B. Yeats—is such a fiery example of the insanity of poetry, and the beauty.
I recently downloaded a libravox collection of readings of this poem, and it’s fascinating to hear it read by over ten different people.
Some clearly have a deep love for poetry and a history with the art form. While others simply read it as if it were a classroom assignment.
But what really caught my attention is that they are all reading the same version of the poem.
In this version, the final line goes as follows:
“…love fled, and paced upon the mountains overhead, and hid its face among a crowd of stars.”
But this is not the version that I know. In the version that I know, and have committed incessantly to memory, the final lines goes as follows:
“…love fled, and paced upon the mountains overhead, and hid his face amid a crowd of stars.”
To most people, I assume, this really makes no difference, and in fact the libravox version is actually more grammatically correct. But the beauty of poetry and the insanity of it is that sometimes grammar can be broken for a much more beautiful end.
I can’t explain why, but when you recite this poem at night, whether alone under a blazing night sky or beside loyal friends next to a sparkling fire, you’ll understand why the original version is the correct version of the poem—and why it is the most beautiful.
Will W. Williams 