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In the poem “I Look Into My Glass,” Hardy speaks of the burden of growing old and still having a youthful heart.  Having read all of Hardy’s poetry, I thought the guy would’ve—by the time he is old—have developed some sort of immunity to the heart aches that come along.  Then I read the poem “Shut Out that Moon,” and its pure nostalgia, “A Broken Appointment” should be titled a broken heart.  All these poems just talk about the intense feelings that are felt over the little things that most people can just shrug off.

The poem “I Look Into My Glass,” torments me.  Hardy says that the sensitivity is never out grown.  I had to write a paper on Eliot’s “Preludes” my senior year, and one line never really made sense until I read Hardy:  “The notion of some infinitely gentle / Infinitely suffering thing.”  I guess Eliot refers to people, with Hardy’s sensitivity, trapped in modernity.  It is tormenting to know, that there are people who are constantly tormented.