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I found another poem with which I can identify in some way, this time Yeats "Men improve with age" is called, a name that reflects this irony as British themselves;

I'm tired of dreams
A marble triton, worn by weather
the streams;
And all day long I look
The beauty of this lady
As though I had found in a book
A pictured beauty, Pleased
have filled the eyes Or
discerning ears,
Delighted to be but wise,
For men improve with age;
But still, still,
Is this my dream, or the truth?
Oh, how I wish that we had met
When I had my burning youth!
But I grow old among dreams,
A marble triton, worn by weather
the streams.


I also feel old among dreams, I'd also be somewhat younger, only 9 years old, yet I do not feel satisfied even less wise.

But mostly I'm tired, I feel exhausted to dream, dreams broken weighed and drag me to the back of my mind inexorably, need a break, relax myself, forget and reinvent entire somewhere else, where you have no time to dream, to live I deal all day.

now is what comes to me day and night, the dream of the place where you can find some peace. I keep dreaming, time passes, and I am a little older every day.