Nuka Gbafah
Dublin, Ireland

In his poem, Yeats portrays the load of depression weighing upon a desolate shepherd and his bid to find compassion and comfort in the inanimate world. We are not being told whether he is dispirited because of the isolation of his vocation, or has he chosen his profession to cater to a naturally brooding disposition? But we witness depression described as an unwelcome companion, and find the shepherd seeking help from the elements of nature. 

We first witness him in his appeal to the stars. He beseeches them to attend him and sever his acquaintance with depression. Unsurprisingly, his appeals fall on deaf ears. Undeterred, the shepherd redirects his supplication to the flowing sea, seeking her attention, but the sea rolls and roars like before. 

Moving onward, the shepherd appeals to the dewdrops, but his cries do not impress them at all. They only have ears for the sound of their own falling. So finally, our lonesome shepherd directs his efforts towards a seashell, hoping to receive a response, even if it be the re-echoing of his ballad. Sadly, all he received for his trouble was the meaningless moan produced by blowing into a hollow seashell. 

There was a man whom Sorrow named his friend, 
And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming, 
Went walking with slow steps along the gleaming 
And humming sands, where windy surges wend: 
And he called loudly to the stars to bend 
From their pale thrones and comfort him, but they 
Among themselves laugh on and sing alway: 
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend 
Cried out, Dim sea, hear my most piteous story! 
The sea swept on and cried her old cry still, 
Rolling along in dreams from hill to hill. 

He fled the persecution of her glory 
And, in a far-off, gentle valley stopping, 
Cried all his story to the dewdrops glistening. 
But naught they heard, for they are always listening, 
The dewdrops, for the sound of their own dropping. 
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend 
Sought once again the shore, and found a shell, 
And thought, I will my heavy story tell 
Till my own words, re-echoing, shall send 
Their sadness through a hollow, pearly heart; 

And my own tale again for me shall sing . . . 

Reference

Yeats, William Butler. “The Sad Shepherd.” Poetry Foundation, January 10, 2022. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57294/the-sad-shepherd