Linda's Literary Home

Author: Linda Sue Grimes

  • Emily Dickinson’s “Through lane it lay – through bramble”

    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “Through lane it lay – through bramble”

    Emily Dickinson’s speaker employs an extended metaphor that likens the human’s path through life on a troubled planet to a simple walk through the woods—a woods that is, however, anything but ordinary.

    Introduction and Text of “Through lane it lay – through bramble”

    The speaker in Dickinson’s “Through lane it lay – through bramble” takes her audience through an imaginary journey that on the superficial level remains a journey of fantasy filled with danger, as it is colorfully allusive to mythological creatures attempting to attack a flock of children as they venture home.

    But Dickinson never leaves her readers moving gleefully from the adventure story stage; thus, her simple adventure is actually performing as an extended metaphor likening the life of human beings on this earth to a dangerous journey through a mythological forest.

    Through lane it lay – through bramble

    Through lane it lay – through bramble –
    Through clearing and through wood –
    Banditti often passed us
    Upon the lonely road.

    The wolf came peering curious –
    The owl looked puzzled down –
    The serpent’s satin figure
    Glid stealthily along –

    The tempests touched our garments –
    The lightning’s poinards gleamed –
    Fierce from the Crag above us
    The hungry Vulture screamed –

    The satyr’s fingers beckoned –
    The valley murmured “Come” –
    These were the mates –
    This was the road
    Those children fluttered home.

    Commentary on “Through lane it lay – through bramble”

    The speaker in “Through lane it lay – through bramble” is using an extended metaphor, likening the human life-path on a distressed planet to a simple walk through a woodland; however, this woodland is quite extraordinary.

    First Stanza:  Another Jaunty Riddle

    Through lane it lay – through bramble –
    Through clearing and through wood –
    Banditti often passed us
    Upon the lonely road.

    In the opening stanza, the speaker begins rather quietly and again almost hinting that this poem will be another jaunty riddle.  She inserts that nebulous “it,” only stating where it “lay” and led:  in a lane and rambled through “bramble”; it also ran through a “clearing” and also through a “wood.”

    The speaker then identifies the “it” as a “lonely road,” in the same breath as asserting that the little group of folks was often passed by marauding robber gangs, or “banditti.”   She employs the rare spelling for “bandits.”  

    One can imagine the poet running upon that word and laying it away for later use in a poem.  Dickinson did enjoy the appearance of cosmopolitanism; she was amused by the charm of worldly engagement, even as she peered intensely into the ultra personal, the ultimate individual soul.

    Second Stanza:  The Fantastic Journey

    The wolf came peering curious –
    The owl looked puzzled down –
    The serpent’s satin figure
    Glid stealthily along –

    The speaker continues the fantastic journey.  After describing the “lonely road” on which the travelers are traveling, she now describes animals that the group encounters.  Wolves that seem quite nosey come and stare at them.  From up in trees, “puzzled” owls peer down at them.  They even observe snakes slithering “stealthily along.”

    The speaker skillfully now begins to drop hints that this is no ordinary walk through the woods.  After providing imagery that has thus far remained quite literally earthly, she employs the term “serpent” for snake.  

    The term “serpent” adds heft to the image of the creature that simply glides upon the earth because that term immediately identifies that creature as the creature from the biblical Genesis–that evil one who tempted the first pair of human beings to ignore the only commandment placed upon them by their Creator-God.  

    Third Stanza:  No Ordinary Journey

    The tempests touched our garments –
    The lightning’s poinards gleamed –
    Fierce from the Crag above us
    The hungry Vulture screamed –

    The speaker continues to deviate her description from an ordinary jaunt through the  woods.  Now she asserts that their clothes were disheveled by “tempests” – not merely did a storm blow up and get them wet.  

    The storms were “tempests,” or many violent storms, a term which again increases the severity the situation and likely alludes to the Shakespeare play, “The Tempest,” which featured a convoluted tale of intrigue and romance, in other words, a simulacrum of the world with its trials and tribulations along with intrigue and romance.

    As the speaker describes the lightning from these “tempests,” she employs the term “poinards.”  That French term “poignard” means dagger.  When anglicized, the correct spelling of the term is “poniard.”  

    Yet for some reason Dickinson has once again baffled her readers with an obvious departure from the accurate spelling of the term.  And again one wonders why Thomas H. Johnson, the editor who restored Dickinson’s poems to the forms that more closely represent her originals, did not quietly correct that spelling.

    Regardless of the reasoning behind the spelling “poinards,” the speaker uses the term for the continued purpose of supporting the extended metaphor of a treacherous journey through life on earth.  Just as the storms are “tempests,” the lightning gleams in daggers.  

    The claims of the scenarios must remain somewhat exaggerated in order to deepen and widen the metaphor from simple journey through the woods to complex journey on the path of life through a threatening world.

    The speaker thus continues to transport her audience from that simply walk through the woods to the journey on the path of life through a menacing world.  

    Fourth Stanza:  The Allure of Lust

    The satyr’s fingers beckoned –
    The valley murmured “Come” –
    These were the mates –
    This was the road
    Those children fluttered home.

    The final movement finds the speaker addressing the issue of human lust.  Just as the first pair was hassled by the serpent and urged to commit the one sin that would banish them from their garden paradise, all of the children resulting from that pair’s falling are hassled and urged to commit that same sin repeatedly.  

    This “road’ through life is replete with the fingers of lust luring, “beckon[ing]” the children to “come” into that “valley” of lustful pleasure.  The not-so-subtle images of “fingers” and “valley” complete the metaphor and remind the audience that those “mates” on this road have caused “those children” the misery of having to “flutter” on their way home.

    The only bright and optimistic hope is that those children are, in fact, on their way home, and that they will finally begin to realize that those satyr “fingers” plunging into those “valleys” only beckon one to death, not to the pleasure promised by those liars.

  • Who says, She is Dark?

    Image: Created by Grok, inspired by the poem

    Who says, She is Dark?

    —inspired by “Thousands of Suns and Moons”

    Her smile beams
    With the rays
    Of a millions suns.

    Her skin glows
    With the light
    Of a million moons.

    Who says, She is dark?

    Only those who refuse
    To open their eye
    To her light.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “There is a word”

    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “There is a word”

    Emily Dickinson’s “There is a word” features one of the poet’s many poems that may qualify as riddles.  She keeps the reader guessing until the end when she finally reveals the “word” that “bears a sword.”

    Introduction and Text of “There is a word”

    Many of Emily Dickinson’s riddle poems never mention the word or thing her speaker is describing.  Examples of two of those mentionless riddles are, “It sifts from Leaden Sieves,” and “I like to see it lap the Miles.”  

    While Dickinson’s “There is a word” does begin as a riddle, it only remains so until the final line, in which the speaker does reveal what word it is that she is finding so troublesome.

    There is a word

    There is a word
    Which bears a sword
    Can pierce an armed man –
    It hurls its barbed syllables
    And is mute again –
    But where it fell
    The saved will tell
    On patriotic day,
    Some epauletted Brother
    Gave his breath away.

    Wherever runs the breathless sun –
    Wherever roams the day –
    There is its noiseless onset –
    There is its victory!
    Behold the keenest marksman!
    The most accomplished shot!
    Time’s sublimest target
    Is a soul “forgot!”

    Commentary on “There is a word”

    This poem is one of the poet’s many poems that may qualify as a  riddle.  She keeps her audience guessing about the word she is describing until the end when she finally reveals the “word” that “bears a sword.”

    First Movement:  The Riddle Begins

    There is a word
    Which bears a sword
    Can pierce an armed man –
    It hurls its barbed syllables
    And is mute again –

    The speaker begins with what seems to be a riddle by asserting that a certain word exists that carries “a sword.”  This word must be very sharp indeed because it can “pierce an armed man.”  This sharp word has “barbed syllables,” and after it “hurls” those sharp syllables, it returns to silence.

    The first movement then has set up a scenario in which a certain “word” is dramatized with the unsavory characteristic of a weapon.  This claim might offer a contradiction to the little ditty that goes, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”  

    The “sticks and stone” claim used to be offered to children to assist them in dealing with a bully.  It was meant to deflect the child’s mind from taking the bullying as a personal affront.  

    If someone breaks your bones with a weapon, you have little recourse but to allow time to heal your broken bones.  If someone hurls painful rhetoric at you, you have the option of not keeping your mind focused on that rhetoric and thus, you are not hurt.

    However, there is a school of thought that has always found the “sticks and stones” advice wanting, claiming that words can definitely hurt one.  And of course, both schools of thought have their merits.  

    A sharp, weaponized “word” hurled even at an “armed man” can pierce the psyche and render untold damage, if the victim finds it difficult to place her mind on other things.

    Second  Movement:  A Metaphorical Weapon

    But where it fell
    The saved will tell
    On patriotic day,
    Some epauletted Brother
    Gave his breath away.

    In the second movement, the speaker metaphorically likens a fallen victim of some weaponized word to a martyr to the cause of patriotism.  Like an “epauletted Brother” who fights to protect the citizens of his nation, who willingly gives “his breath away,” the victim of this sharp word will be praised by those the brother saved.

    This speaker is demonstrating that she is referring to words that hurt the psyche, not necessarily the bones or the flesh.  But in order to dramatize the scenario, she metaphorically paints the images in military terms, which she continues through the remaining two movements.

    Third  Movement:  An Astounding Notion

    Wherever runs the breathless sun –
    Wherever roams the day –
    There is its noiseless onset –
    There is its victory!

    That the sun may be considered “breathless” is an astounding notion.  But that notion along with the roaming of the day places the entire scene beyond the physical level of being.  The “noiseless onset” is the space wherein that weaponized word has failed to penetrate.

    Had that failure of penetration continued, there would have been a great “victory.”  But that victory does not materialize.  It cannot as it is placed in an impossible location where the sun runs breathless and where the day may be understood to have the ability to “roam.”

    Without breath, the human being cannot utter any word, weaponized or not.  And that silent space of time remains a blessed opposition to the battleground where pain and suffering occur.  

    Beyond that battleground, that is, beyond the physical level of existence, those who have achieved the status of “breathless sun” will achieve their victory over those weaponized words.

    Fourth  Movement:  Again, the Military Metaphor

    Behold the keenest marksman!
    The most accomplished shot!
    Time’s sublimest target
    Is a soul “forgot!”

    Again, employing the military metaphor, the speaker commands her listener/reader to observe and consider the “keenest marksman,” who has accomplished the highest level of shooting ability. 

    Finally, the speaker reveals that word that she finds to be the one that “bears a sword.”  That word is the simple word “forgot.”  But she has framed that word by claiming it is “Time’s sublimest target” which is, “a soul” “forgot!”

    The exclamation point following the word “forgot” is vital to the total meaning of the poem.  By placing that punctuation mark outside the quotation marks, the emphasis on the word is removed.

    The ambiguity of the following two-line sentence continues to keep the poem a riddle:

    Time’s sublimest target
    Is a soul “forgot!”

    That sentence can be understood two ways:

    1. The most difficult thing for any human being is that her mind has forgotten that she is a soul.
    2. The hardest thing for a person to hear is that she has been forgotten by someone else.

    Interestingly, the ambiguity of those final two lines, that is, the two alternate interpretations give the poem its depth of meaning.  The result of anything that has been  “forgot” remains a disfiguring absence to any human being—physically, mentally, or spiritually.

    When the two instances of forgetting are bound up into one painful event, even the “armed man” who has been shot by the “keenest marksman” will fall victim and suffer from the barbed syllables hurled at him.

  • Flood Plain

    Image: Created by Grok, inspired by the poem

    Flood Plain

    The climate changes itself to suit itself.
    Humankind’s arrogant bluster adds nor
    Subtracts not a tittle in the gravity of things.
    Rioting winds have destroyed and played
    On the flood plain since time began.

    Humans controlling climate change is like
    Humans saving time:  Daylight Saving Time—
    That imaginary figment of someone’s fevered brain:
    Imagine making a blanket longer by cutting off
    One end and sewing it to the other.

    When the Divine Creator fashioned this mud ball
    Of a planet, he gave some people the ability to sense
    That this Earth is a really big orb, and no number
    Of little human beings no matter how much they breathe
    Can ever change what God made immutable.

  • The Shakespeare Lyric “Orpheus”

    Image: Orpheus playing lyre

    The Shakespeare Lyric “Orpheus”

    The Shakespearean speaker presents Orpheus as the embodiment of music’s power, showing how art, particularly music, has the ability to harmonize nature and relieve human suffering through its transformative, calming influence.

    Introduction and Text of the “Shakespeare Lyric ‘Orpheus’”

    Excerpted from Henry VIII (Act III, Scene 1), this brief lyric distills the ancient myth of Orpheus into a musing on the transformational and consolatory power of music. 

    The speaker expresses a vision in which art exerts a gentle but irresistible authority over nature itself, bringing harmony where there is chaos, motion where there is stillness, and rest where there is unrest.

    The figure of Orpheus becomes less a mythological character than an emblem of art’s highest potential: to reshape the external world and quiet the inward life.  I have employed the Orpheus ethos in my plea for more control and better expression in the art of poetry.

    “Orpheus”  (from Henry VIII  – Act III, Scene 1)

    Orpheus with his lute made trees
    And the mountain tops that freeze
    Bow themselves when he did sing:
    To his music plants and flowers
    Ever sprung; as sun and showers
    There had made a lasting spring.

    Every thing that heard him play,
    Even the billows of the sea,
    Hung their heads and then lay by.
    In sweet music is such art,
    Killing care and grief of heart
    Fall asleep, or hearing, die.

    Commentary on “The Shakespeare Lyric ‘Orpheus’”

    In this Shakespeare excerpt that functions as a stand-alone poem, the speaker is alluding to the Greek mythological character Orpheus to celebrate music as a force of order, renewal, and inward healing.  Orpheus was the god of music and poetry i Greek mythology.

    Stanza 1:  Music’s Powerful Influence

    Orpheus with his lute made trees
    And the mountain tops that freeze
    Bow themselves when he did sing:
    To his music plants and flowers
    Ever sprung; as sun and showers
    There had made a lasting spring

    The speaker opens with a striking assertion of music’s powerful influence over the natural world.  The phrasing remains condensed, as though the act of music itself compresses time and causation. Trees and mountain tops do not merely respond; they are “made” or commanded to respond by bowing to the sound of Orphean singing. 

    This shaping force exerts itself to images of rigidity and lifeless cold. That mountain summits are called to “bow themselves” introduces a paradox: what is fixed becomes responsive, what is cold becomes animate, and what is elevated yields in humility.

    The verb “bow” carries a dual resonance. It suggests both submission and grace, implying that nature’s response is not actually coerced but harmonized. The speaker presents music not as domination but as persuasion, a gentle authority that draws all things into alignment. Even the harshest elements—frozen peaks—are softened by sound, indicating that art reaches where physical force cannot.

    The hyperbole exerted in these images is astounding, leading not to disbelief but to the famous Romantic assertion by Samuel Taylor Coleridge “that willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith.” After all, the purpose of exaggeration is only to emphasize a claim, not to make a melodramatic spectacle.

    The stanza then shifts from gesture to growth: “plants and flowers / Ever sprung.” The effect is not momentary but continuous, captured in the word “ever.” Music generates an ongoing fertility, a perpetual blossoming that resists decay. 

    The comparison to “sun and showers” grounds this transformation in natural cycles, yet the phrase “lasting spring” exceeds ordinary seasonal change. Spring, typically transient, becomes permanent under the influence of music. The speaker thus elevates art above nature’s own processes, suggesting that while sun and rain produce life, music sustains it indefinitely.

    The imagery moves from rigidity (mountains) to vitality (flowers), tracing a progression from stillness to generative abundance. The speaker’s syntax reinforces this flow, with lines that seem to unfold organically, mirroring the growth they describe. Music becomes both cause and condition of harmony, a principle that unifies disparate elements—earth, air, and life itself.

    What emerges is not merely a portrait of Orpheus but an argument about art’s capacity to reconcile opposites: cold and warmth, height and humility, barrenness and fertility. The speaker implies that music achieves what nature alone cannot—a permanence of renewal, a “lasting spring” that suspends the ordinary limits of time and change.

    Again, as in most successful art, the tension of the pairs of opposites makes an appearance.  As the great Guru Paramahansa Yogananda has explained, the force of Maya, the very cause of the material level of being, works through the pairs of opposites.

    Stanza 2:   The Universal Influence of Music

    Every thing that heard him play,
    Even the billows of the sea,
    Hung their heads and then lay by.
    In sweet music is such art,
    Killing care and grief of heart
    Fall asleep, or hearing, die.

    The second stanza broadens the scope from land to sea, extending the reach of music to “Every thing that heard him play.” The universality is emphatic; nothing remains outside the sphere of music’s influence. 

    While the first stanza emphasizes growth and animation, the second turns toward quieting and rest. The “billows of the sea,” emblematic of motion and unrest, are personified “h[anging] their heads and then l[ying] by.” The image suggests human beings becoming calm after turbulence, with ceaseless motion transforms into stillness.

    The phrase “hung their heads” echoes the earlier “bow themselves,” reinforcing the motif of submission, yet here it carries a more subdued, almost weary connotation. The sea, often a symbol of emotional excess or instability, is brought into repose. The progression from bowing to lying still marks a deepening effect: music does not merely elicit acknowledgment; it also induces tranquility.

    The final lines turn inward with even more gravity, shifting from the external world to the human condition: “care and grief of heart.” The speaker identifies these as persistent burdens, analogous to the restless sea. 

    Music’s power is now psychological and emotional, not merely physical. The phrase “killing care” is striking in its severity; music does not soothe lightly but eradicates distress at its root.

    Yet the resolution is nuanced: care and grief either “fall asleep, or hearing, die.” The dual possibility suggests degrees of relief. Sleep implies temporary suspension, while death indicates permanent release. The ambiguity allows for a range of experience—music may offer respite or complete transformation. In either case, it alters the condition of suffering.

    The line “In sweet music is such art” functions as a reflective statement, drawing together the stanza’s implications. “Sweet” emphasizes harmony and pleasure, but “art” underscores intention and craft. The speaker presents music as both aesthetic and efficacious, capable of shaping not only perception but feeling itself.

    The movement of the stanza—from the vast sea to the inner heart—compresses the scale of influence, suggesting that the same force governs both realms. The calming of waves parallels the quieting of grief, establishing a correspondence between outer and inner worlds. Music becomes a mediating principle, aligning nature and human emotion within a single order of harmony.

    The final stanza affirms that art’s highest function lies not merely in delight but in restoration. It brings the restless to rest, the troubled to peace, and in doing so, offers a vision of existence in which discord is not denied but resolved.

    Image: Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford The “Shakespeare” Writer

  • Emily Dickinson’s “On this wondrous sea”

    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “On this wondrous sea”

    In the first movement of Dickinson’s “On this wondrous sea,” the speaker addresses God as the metaphorical pilot of a metaphorical seafaring vessel; in the second movement, the speaker allows that “pilot” to speak as He answers her supplicating question.

    Introduction and Text of “On this wondrous sea”

    Emily Dickinson’s fourth poem in Thomas H. Johnson’s The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson may be thought of as the beginning of her true style and content.  The first three poems feature two Valentine messages ( “Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine” and “Sic transit gloria mundi“) and an invitation (“There is another sky”) to her brother, Austin, to come and experience the new world she is creating with her poetry.

    In contrast to the first three entries in Dickinson’s complete poems, “On this wondrous sea” sets out on a journey of poetry creation that will involve her belovèd Creator, whom she will beseech and at times even argue with in her zeal to substantiate truth and beauty in her other “sky.”

    In a very real sense, the Dickinson speaker is performing a set of little dramas that resemble that of the speaker of the Shakespeare sonnets.  The Shakespeare sonneteer was interested only in preserving truth, beauty, and love in his creations for future generations.  

    In the course of those sonnets, especially the section known as “The Muse Sonnets,” the Shakespeare writer expresses his desire repeatedly to present only truth, beauty, and love in his works, in contrast to the slathering on of tinsel and meaningless blather sent out by non-serious artist wannabes, known as poetasters.

    The Dickinson speaker demonstrates the same proclivities, and it also becomes evident that she shows a keen ability to observe the tiniest detail in her environment.  Yet, even as she focuses on those details, her vision never lowers from her mystic sight.

    It is in that focus that Dickinson differs dramatically from the Shakespearean sonneteer.  While he reveals his devout awareness of the mystical in his life, he remains a mere observer compared to the active mysticism of the Dickinson speaker.

    Emily Dickinson’s rare ability to communicate the ineffable has earned her a place in American letters that no other literary figure in the English language has been able to outpace.

    On this wondrous sea

    On this wondrous sea
    Sailing silently,
    Ho! Pilot, ho!
    Knowest thou the shore
    Where no breakers roar —
    Where the storm is o’er?

    In the peaceful west
    Many the sails at rest —
    The anchors fast —
    Thither I pilot thee —
    Land Ho! Eternity!
    Ashore at last!

    Commentary on “On this wondrous sea”

    The whole physical world becomes an ocean on which the speaker finds herself tossed and wondering if she will ever be returned to the safety of land.

    First Movement:  The Sea as Metaphor

    The speaker begins by creating a metaphor for the physical level of being, this wide world, in which she finds herself tempest tossed and uncertain of the way to safety.  Calling this world a “wondrous sea,” she reports that she is quietly sailing upon this ocean of chaos, then suddenly she cries out: “Ho! Pilot, ho!”

    And then she demands of the pilot to know if he knows where there is safety, where there are no trials and tribulations, where one can find rest from the many upheavals and battles that continually confront each inhabitant of this world.  Upon first encountering, it may seem that the speaker is addressing some sea captain as she rides in some maritime vessel.

    But it quickly becomes apparent that the speaker is addressing the Creator of the universe, and she wants to know if the Creator of this seemingly confusing Creation knows where she can go to come out of “the storm.”  As the “sea” is a metaphor for the world, the “Pilot” is the metaphor for the Creator (or God), Who directs and leads His children through this confusing place.  

    As a pilot would steer a ship, God steers the ship of life, the ship of this world that only He has created.  Thus the speaker appeals to God for an answer to her question, is there anywhere that can offer peace to the poor soul who must navigate the churning waters of this world?

    Second Movement:  Where Peace Reigns Supreme

    In the second stanza, the speaker shifts from the supplicant to the Blessèd Creator, Who bestows on the questioner the answer to her question.  The storm is over where peace reigns supreme.  Metaphorically, the speaker chooses to locate the peaceful place in the “west,” likely to rime it with “rest.”  

    In that peaceful west, one can cease the constant struggle with the dualities of this world.  One can feel secure with “anchors fast,” unlike the constant heaving and tossing back and forth that the rough sea causes.  The sails can be lowered and remain in that position because the journey has reached its destination.

    The piloting Creator then assures His traveling, storm-tossed child that, in fact, He is taking her there as she speaks.  The words, “Thither I pilot thee,” must ring in the ears of this supplicant as a true balm of heaven, comforting her every nervous inclination; she knows that she is safe with this “Pilot,” Who knows where to take her and is piloting her there now.

    Then suddenly, the coveted land is in sight and the land is “Eternity.”  The speaker now knows she is being guided safely and surely through her life by the One, Who can take her “ashore” and keep her secure throughout eternity.  Immortality is hers and peace will be her existence in this eternal resting place where the soul resides with its Divine Over-Soul Creator.

  • My Summer Mind

    Image: Created by ChatGPT inspired by the poem

    My Summer Mind

    Winter kept me bound
    To the thought of warmer days.
    My tongue remained frozen,
    Figuring talk was later.
    Heat was all I sought,
    Waiting in rooms chilled with snow.
    We did not burn each other
    Or have the guts to move in a daze.
    If we listened to the song,
    We felt that nature would change us.

    Love and knowledge may contradict
    Each other in the wait of uneven things
    But cold gives way to warm
    As winter gives way to spring
    And bodies of fire hang in the brain 

    Where turning feels right.
    Still, it is my summer mind I seek
    To keep in my heart its
    Fuel to keep the arms and legs
    Moving and the soul on fire.

    Image: Original photo by Linda Sue Grimes, text added by Grok

    A Prose Commentary on My Original Poem “My Summer Mind”

    In my poem “My Summer Mind,” I have created a speaker who is musing upon the tension between dormancy and vitality, hesitation and movement, using the seasonal opposition of winter and summer as a governing metaphor for interior states of being. The poem is less concerned with external climate than with the mind’s fluctuating capacity for warmth, courage, and animation.

    Where “Some Bones” dwelt in fragmentation and arrested spiritual development, this poem turns toward the possibility—though not the certainty—of renewal. Yet the tone remains guarded. My speaker does not claim arrival but instead reveals a consciousness caught in transition, aware of warmth as an aspiration rather than a constant possession.

    The imagery moves between cold and heat, stillness and motion, silence and expression. My speaker situates herself in a liminal condition: waiting, anticipating, and attempting to summon a more vital state of mind. The poem’s underlying concern is not merely seasonal change but the discipline required to sustain inner fire once it has been glimpsed.

    First Stanza: Winter as Suspension

    In the opening stanza, my speaker situates herself in winter, a season that “kept [her] bound / To the thought of warmer days.” The emphasis here is not simply on cold but on deferral. The speaker is oriented toward the future, toward warmth that has not yet arrived.

    The frozen tongue is especially significant. Speech is postponed, withheld under the assumption that expression belongs to a more favorable time—“Figuring talk was later.” This suggests a psychological habit of delay, a reluctance to engage fully with the present moment.

    The stanza’s middle lines intensify the sense of enclosure. The rooms are interior, insulated, yet still pervaded by cold. My speaker implies that external shelter does not guarantee internal warmth.

    The line “We did not burn each other / Or have the guts to move in a daze” introduces relational hesitation. Passion is avoided; risk is deferred. Even confusion—“a daze”—is rejected, suggesting that the speaker prefers stasis over the vulnerability of imperfect action.

    The stanza closes with a tentative openness: “If we listened to the song, / We felt that nature would change us.” Here, my speaker gestures toward a passive hope that transformation might occur through attunement rather than effort. The “song” of nature becomes a kind of external agency, one that might effect change without requiring decisive internal movement.

    Second Stanza: The Friction of Love and Knowledge

    The second stanza complicates the earlier passivity by introducing an intellectual and emotional tension.  My speaker acknowledges that human experience is rarely harmonious; feeling and understanding often pull in opposing directions.

    The phrase “the wait of uneven things” reinforces the earlier motif of delay while adding a sense of imbalance. Time passes, but it does not resolve contradiction. Instead, it sustains it.

    Yet my speaker reintroduces the natural cycle as a form of reassurance: “cold gives way to warm / As winter gives way to spring.” This transformation is not a dramatic revelation but a steady, almost inevitable progression. The movement from winter to spring serves as both metaphor and quiet argument: change is embedded in the structure of existence.

    The line “And bodies of fire hang in the brain / Where turning feels right” marks a subtle but important shift inward. The warmth the speaker seeks is no longer purely external; it exists as potential within the mind itself. These “bodies of fire” suggest ideas, impulses, or passions suspended in a state of readiness.

    The phrase “Where turning feels right” implies that transformation involves choice or orientation. The speaker begins to recognize that movement toward warmth is not entirely dependent on external seasons but on an internal willingness to turn.

    Third Movement: Aspiration toward the Summer Mind

    The closing lines crystallize the poem’s central desire: “Still, it is my summer mind I seek.” The phrasing is deliberate—my speaker does not claim to possess this state but actively seeks it.

    The “summer mind” functions as a metaphor for sustained vitality: warmth, clarity, motion, and perhaps courage. It is not merely a seasonal mood but a disciplined condition the speaker wishes to “keep in [her] heart.”

    The emphasis on “fuel” extends the metaphor into the realm of energy and maintenance. Warmth must be sustained; it requires ongoing attention. My speaker understands that vitality is not self-perpetuating but must be actively preserved.

    The final lines—“to keep the arms and legs / Moving and the soul on fire”—bring the poem into the realm of embodied action. Unlike the earlier stasis of winter, the summer mind enables motion. Physical movement becomes a sign of inner animation, while the “soul on fire” suggests the divine union of energy and purpose.

    An Afterthought

    In “My Summer Mind,” I have attempted to articulate a transition from passivity to intentional vitality, though that transition remains incomplete. The poem does not celebrate arrival but instead dwells in the act of seeking—a condition that is, in itself, both necessary and unstable.

    My speaker’s awareness of seasonal change serves as both comfort and challenge. While nature guarantees transformation, the maintenance of an inner “summer” requires more than passive observation. It demands orientation, effort, and a willingness to risk movement even before warmth is fully secured.

    In contrast to the disintegration explored in “Some Bones,” this poem suggests the possibility of coherence, though it stops short of confirming it. The speaker recognizes that without cultivating this “summer mind,”she risks remaining in cycles of delay and hesitation.

    Ultimately, the poem proposes that vitality is not merely given but chosen—and that the sustaining of inner fire is an ongoing, deliberate act.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “Sic transit gloria mundi”

    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “Sic transit gloria mundi”

    By Dickinsonian standards, “Sic transit gloria mundi” is quite long.  Its tone and subject matter vary greatly from the Dickinson persona that will be on display in the majority of her poems. 

    Introduction and Text of “Sic transit gloria mundi”

    Similar to poem #1 in Thomas H. Johnson’s The Complete Poem of Emily Dickinson, poem #3 “Sic transit gloria mundi,” stands as a rather lengthy poem by Dickinsonian standards, and it is also a Valentine, sent to William Howland, a law clerk in her father’s office.  

    This poem was published in the Springfield Republican on February 20, 1852.  Two years earlier, she had sent a Valentine message, “Awake ye muses nine,” to her father’s law partner, Elbridge Bowdoin.

    Sic transit gloria mundi

    “Sic transit gloria mundi,”
    “How doth the busy bee,”
    “Dum vivimus vivamus,”  
    I stay mine enemy! —

    Oh “veni, vidi, vici!” 
    Oh caput cap-a-pie!   
    And oh “memento mori” 
    When I am far from thee!

    Hurrah for Peter Parley!
    Hurrah for Daniel Boone!
    Three cheers, sir, for the gentleman
    Who first observed the moon!

    Peter, put up the sunshine;
    Pattie, arrange the stars;
    Tell Luna, tea is waiting,
    And call your brother Mars!

    Put down the apple, Adam,
    And come away with me,
    So shalt thou have a pippin
    From off my father’s tree!

    I climb the “Hill of Science,”
    I “view the landscape o’er;”
    Such transcendental prospect,
    I ne’er beheld before!

    Unto the Legislature
    My country bids me go;
    I’ll take my india rubbers,
    In case the wind should blow!

    During my education,
    It was announced to me
    That gravitation, stumbling
    Fell from an apple tree!

    The earth upon an axis
    Was once supposed to turn,
    By way of a gymnastic
    In honor of the sun!

    It was the brave Columbus,
    A sailing o’er the tide,
    Who notified the nations
    Of where I would reside!

    Mortality is fatal—
    Gentility is fine,
    Rascality, heroic,
    Insolvency, sublime

    Our Fathers being weary,
    Laid down on Bunker Hill;
    And tho’ full many a morning,
    Yet they are sleeping still,—

    The trumpet, sir, shall wake them,
    In dreams I see them rise,
    Each with a solemn musket
    A marching to the skies!

    A coward will remain, Sir,
    Until the fight is done;
    But an immortal hero
    Will take his hat, and run!

    Good bye Sir, I am going;
    My country calleth me;
    Allow me, Sir, at parting,
    To wipe my weeping e’e.

    In token of our friendship
    Accept this “Bonnie Doon,”
    And when the hand that plucked it
    Hath passed beyond the moon,

    The memory of my ashes
    Will consolation be;
    Then farewell Tuscarora,
    And farewell, Sir, to thee!

    Commentary on “Sic transit gloria mundi”

    Emily Dickinson sent her poem “Sic transit gloria mundi” as a Valentine message to William Howland, who served as a law clerk in her father’s law office.  

    First Movement:  A Fertile Mind on Display

    “Sic transit gloria mundi,”
    “How doth the busy bee,”
    “Dum vivimus vivamus,”  
    I stay mine enemy! —

    Oh “veni, vidi, vici!” 
    Oh caput cap-a-pie!   
    And oh “memento mori” 
    When I am far from thee!

    Hurrah for Peter Parley!
    Hurrah for Daniel Boone!
    Three cheers, sir, for the gentleman
    Who first observed the moon!

    Peter, put up the sunshine;
    Pattie, arrange the stars;
    Tell Luna, tea is waiting,
    And call your brother Mars!

    The first stanza of the Valentine sounds like a jumble of unrelated thoughts as it begins with three allusive quotations: first, the Latin phrase, “Sic transit gloria mundi,” which translates into English as, “So passes away this world’s glory.”  

    The phrase is used in the ceremony of installing a Pope and likely originated with Thomas à Kempis’ “O quam cito transit gloria mundi” (Oh how soon passes away this world’s glory) from De Imitatione Christi (Translation to English The Imitation of Christ).

    Second, the allusion to the Isaac Watts’ poem, “How doth the little busy bee,” whose second line finishes the question: “Improve each shining hour.” 

    And third, “Dum vivimus vivamus,” translation,”while we are alive, let’s live,” which is thought to serve as an epicurean motto and was employed as a motto by the Porcellian Club at Harvard.  

    The speaker then speaks for herself for the first time in the poem and declares she will stop her enemy, a claim that will leave her listeners a bit stunned.

    But then the speaker offers a near repetition of the first stanza’s strategy with Latin phrases, along with one French phrase:  First, “Oh ‘veni, vidi, vici!’,” which is the famous declaration made by Julius Caesar after he overcame Pharnaces of Pontus in the Battle of Zela.

    Second, “Oh caput cap-a-pie!” with Latin  “the head” and French “from head-to-toe.” And then the third, “And oh “memento mori,” Latin again for “remembering I must die,” which makes much sense clamped on to the following line, “When I am far from thee!”

    Those first two stanzas of the Valentine demonstrate the varied education of the speaker; she has read and studied enough of Latin and perhaps French to be able to employ quotations from her reading.  Likely the only purpose of those quotations is to show off as she flirts with the target of the Valentine.

    The speaker then continues to demonstrate her book learning by alluding to a widely published author of the time period, who used the pseudonym, “Peter Parley.”  Parley published a wide variety of informative tracts primarily for children in the subject areas of science, art, travel, biography, and natural history and geography.

    The speaker gives a nod to the American explorer, Daniel Boone, who is most noted for having explored the state now known as Kentucky.  The speaker finally offers “three cheer” for the man who first “observed the moon.”  

    This last seeming allusion, however, is ludicrous in its assertion; thus the speaker is making a joke which puts all of her earlier allusions in question.  

    Is she really just making fun of received knowledge?   No doubt that is so.  And her true purpose, of course, is simply to flirt with a law clerk in her father’s office, who likely possesses the ability to recognize many of those allusions and thus understand her little joke.

    The final stanza in the first movement plays out in definite sarcastic hilarity, as she commands Peter to “put up the sunshine,” while Pattie must “arrange the stars,” while alerting “Luna” (the Latin term for “moon”) that tea is about to be served, and brother Mars, another heavenly body, should be called.

    Thus the speaker has set the stage for a romp through her fertile mind that she hopes will impress a young man with her vast knowledge, all acquired through book learning, thus she can make fun of it, as if she were saying, look what I can do with bit and pieces of information that has passed before my very fecund imagination!

    Second Movement:  Continuing to Allude

    Put down the apple, Adam,
    And come away with me,
    So shalt thou have a pippin
    From off my father’s tree!

    I climb the “Hill of Science,”
    I “view the landscape o’er;”
    Such transcendental prospect,
    I ne’er beheld before!

    Unto the Legislature
    My country bids me go;
    I’ll take my india rubbers,
    In case the wind should blow!

    During my education,
    It was announced to me
    That gravitation, stumbling
    Fell from an apple tree!

    In the second movement, the speaker continues her allusive jaunt, beginning with Genesis and Adam eating the metaphoric “apple.”  She tells “Adam,” whom she likely is assigning identity with Mr. Howland, the law clerk, to forsake the “apple” that he is already eating and come with her to enjoy an apple from her father’s tree.  

    That “pippin” or dessert apple, which is sweeter than ordinary apples, refers to herself; thus, she is the offering from her father’s tree that she wishes to give to the target of the Valentine.

    Next the speaker intimates that she has read Anna Lætitia Barbauld’s “The Hill of Science. A Vision,” and again offers a line from an Isaac Watt’s hymn, “There Is a Land of Pure Delight.”

    The speaker then concocts the notion that she has been called to government service, but then immediately descends into a comment about the weather.  Finally, she again makes a remark that her education has given her to believe that the man who discovered gravity, only did so because some crazy apple “stumbl[ed]” and “fell from an apple tree!”  

    It must have given her great delight to return again to the “apple” as she completed the second movement of her Valentine.

    Third Movement:  Astronomy and History

    The earth upon an axis
    Was once supposed to turn,
    By way of a gymnastic
    In honor of the sun!

    It was the brave Columbus,
    A sailing o’er the tide,
    Who notified the nations
    Of where I would reside!

    Mortality is fatal—
    Gentility is fine,
    Rascality, heroic,
    Insolvency, sublime

    Our Fathers being weary,
    Laid down on Bunker Hill;
    And tho’ full many a morning,
    Yet they are sleeping still,—

    The trumpet, sir, shall wake them,
    In dreams I see them rise,
    Each with a solemn musket
    A marching to the skies!

    The speaker now turns to astronomy to report the fact that the earth rotates, an activity that earlier, she opines, was considered to honor the sun.  Of course, earthly gymnastics, she now knows, is simply a fact of a science.  The sun, only in poetic terms, can be considered to feel honored by the rotating of the earth.

    Moving on to some historical information, the speaker reports that Columbus, whom she finds to be brave, went sailing over the sea, and in doing so he let other nations know where the speaker “would reside.”

    She then lists some definitions of terms: mortality=fatal, gentility=fine.  But then she seems to go off track by stating that rascality is heroic, and insolvency is sublime.  The two latter claims likely are allusions to the financial crisis known as the Panic of 1837, which resulted in a major recession that continued into the mid-1840s.

    The speaker then continues with her nods to history, mentioning that their “Fathers” died on Bunker Hill and despite the fact morning still comes upon that hill, they remain sleeping there.  But she envisions in a dream that a trumpet wakes those fathers, who rise and march heavenward with their muskets.

    Fourth Movement:  Bizarre Claim and Failed Valentine

    A coward will remain, Sir,
    Until the fight is done;
    But an immortal hero
    Will take his hat, and run!

    Good bye Sir, I am going;
    My country calleth me;
    Allow me, Sir, at parting,
    To wipe my weeping e’e.

    In token of our friendship
    Accept this “Bonnie Doon,”
    And when the hand that plucked it
    Hath passed beyond the moon,

    The memory of my ashes
    Will consolation be;
    Then farewell Tuscarora,
    And farewell, Sir, to thee!

    In the final movement, the speaker’s opening stanza makes a bizarre claim that seems quite opposite of what tradition teaches. She asserts that it is the coward who stays and fights while those who grab their hats and run become the immortal heroes.  

    Likely, she is spoofing the notion that those who run away are more likely to remain above ground than those who remain in battle and continue to engage the enemy.

    But before the reader can place much concentration on that thought, the speaker moves quickly on again to state that she must go and perform service to her country.  She asks the target of her Valentine to permit her to shed a tear at leaving him behind.  She then states that this Valentine is a “token of our friendship.” She asks him to accept this “Bonnie doon,” alluding to Robert Burns’ “The Banks O’ Doon,” which features a lament about being left by a sweetheart.

    But the token of friendship, this “Bonnie Doon,” seems to become a flower as the speaker then asserts that once she is dead and her ashes have “passed beyond the moon,” the memory of those ashes will console the Valentine reader.  

    Then abruptly as she draws an end to her missive, by bidding farewell to “Tuscarora” and then to the target of the Valentine, calling him “Sir.”

    Remembering the playful nature of the poem makes allusions such as Tuscarora, the American Indians, who originally resided in the North Carolina area and later were admitted into the New York federation of the Iroquois, a fertile field for varied interpretations.  

    Likely, she’s referring to the country and its earlier history, but also it is likely she is being ironic as she surely is when she is bidding farewell to the recipient of the Valentine.  

    Lifelong Bachelors

    Both Valentine messages in the two poems “Awake ye muses nine” and “Sic transit gloria mundi” were serious although playful flirtations directed toward the young men to which she sent them.  

    The poet possibly hoped to engage each young man in courtship, but quite the contrary actually happened.  Both men, Elbridge Bowdoin and William Howland, remained lifelong bachelors.  And, of course, Emily never married either.

    Image: Emily Dickinson – Commemorative Stamp

  • Emily Dickinson’s “Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine”

    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine”

    The first poem in  Thomas H. Johnson’s The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson is a Valentine aimed at persuading a young man to marry and is quite atypical of the poet’s style in her canon of 1,775 poems.

    Introduction with Text of “Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine”

    In The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, edited and returned to Dickinson’s idiosyncratic style by Thomas H. Johnson, the first poem sports a whopping 40 lines of 20 riming couplets.   It is Dickinson’s longest published poem and departs in style greatly from the remaining 1,774 in the volume.

    Emily Dickinson’s “Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine” begins with a traditional invocation to the muses; however, instead of displaying in  quatrains, as most of the poet’s poems do, it rests as a single lump chunk down the page.  

    The poet’s Germanic influenced capitalization of nouns and her many sprinklings of dashes are missing; yet, she does insert two dashes into the last three lines. Dickinson’s speaker addresses a young man, urging him to choose a young lady and propose marriage to her.  

    The central theme of this piece plays out in a similar manner to the Shakespeare “Marriage Sonnets,” in which the speaker is exhorting a young man to marry and produce beautiful offspring.   However, the Dickinson poem remains a playful piece focusing on the Valentine season, while the Shakespeare “Marriage Sonnets” remain quite serious in their urgency.

    Richard B. Sewall’s The Life of Emily Dickinson has asserted that the young gentleman addressed in this poem is Elbridge Bowdoin, a partner in the Dickinson father’s law firm.  

    The poet’s Valentine was sent in 1850 in a book that she was returning to Bowdoin.   The poem seems to be quite flirtatious. Bowdoin, nevertheless, did not appear to take notice. It seems he snubbed the advice in the poem by remaining a life-long bachelor.

    Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine

    Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,
    Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine!

    Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,
    For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain.
    All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air,
    God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair!
    The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,
    Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun;
    The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be,
    Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree.
    The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small,
    None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball;
    The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives,
    And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves;
    The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won,
    And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son.
    The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune,
    The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon,
    Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows,
    No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose.
    The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride,
    Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide;
    Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true,
    And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue.
    Now to the application, to the reading of the roll,
    To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul:
    Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone,
    Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap’st what thou hast sown.
    Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long,
    And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song?
    There’s Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair,
    And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair!
    Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see
    Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree;
    Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb,
    And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time!
    Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower,
    And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower –
    And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum –
    And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!

    Commentary on “Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine”

    The first poem in Emily Dickinson’s Complete Poems is a Valentine aimed at persuading a young man to marry and is quite atypical of the poet’s style in her canon of 1,775 poems.

    First Movement:  Invocation to the Muses

    Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,
    Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine!

    Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,
    For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain.

    The ancient epics of Homer and Virgil begin with an invocation to the muse, wherein the speaker asks for guidance as he narrates his tales of adventure.   In her Valentine poem, Emily Dickinson has playfully added an invocation to all nine muses to help her with her little drama aimed at the young man for the Valentine season.

    Dickinson has her speaker command all nine muses to wake up and sing her a little ditty that she may relay to inflame her Valentine’s heart to do as she requests.  She then begins by describing how things of the earth all come in pairs.  

    One part of the pair seeks and unites with the other: the damsel is courted by the “hopeless swain” and there is whispering and sighing as a “unity” brings the “twain” together.

    Second Movement:   Earth Creatures Pair Up

    All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air,
    God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair!
    The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,
    Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun;
    The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be,
    Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree.
    The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small,
    None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball;
    The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives,
    And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves;
    The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won,
    And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son.
    The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune,
    The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon,
    Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows,
    No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose.
    The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride,
    Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide;
    Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true,
    And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue.

    After alluding to a human pair, the speaker then narrates her observation that everything on this earth seems to be courting its mate, not only on dry land but also in the “sea, or air.”  In the next twenty or so lines, she supplies an abundant sampling of things of the earth that pair up.  

    She exaggerates for comedic affect that God has made nothing in the world “single” except for the target of her discourse, who is the young man. The speaker then tells the young man that the bride and bridegroom pair up and become one.  Adam and Eve represent the first pair, and then there is the heavenly united pair, the sun and the moon.  

    And those who follow the precept of coupling live happily, while those who avoid this natural act end up “hanged on fatal tree.”  Again, she is exaggerating for the fun of it! The speaker then assures the young man that no one who looks will not find.  After all, the earth as she has said, was “made for lovers.”  

    She then begins her catalogue of earth things that make up the two part of a unified whole:  the bee and flower marry and are celebrated by a “hundred leaves.”  In two masterful lines, the speaker creates a metaphorical and symbolic wedding of bee and flower:   “The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives, / And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves.”

    The speaker continues the catalogue of earth things that make up a unified pair:  the wind and the boughs, the storm and the seashore, the wave and the moon, night and day.  

    She sprinkles in references to the human realm with such lines as, “the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son,” “The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride,” and “Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true.”

    With the line regarding the worm wooing the mortal, the speaker, similar to the Shakespearean speaker, is reminding her target that life on this planet does not last forever, and each human physical encasement is subject to death and decay.   It is because of this plight that she is urging the young man not to allow his life to speed by without fulfilling his duty as part of a unified couple.

    Third Movement:  Thus It Follows That

    Now to the application, to the reading of the roll,
    To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul:
    Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone,
    Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap’st what thou hast sown.
    Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long,
    And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song?

    Now, the speaker announces what has to happen because of her description of  the way life goes “on this terrestrial ball.”  The single man must be brought to justice.    The speaker then remarks bluntly, “Thou art a human solo,” along with a melancholy description of unhappiness that being alone can bring.  She rhetorically asks if he does not spend many hours and sad minutes of reflecting on this situation.

    Of course, she is implying that she knows he does wallow in this sorrowful state, and thus she has the antidote for eliminating all the miserable melancholy.  She will turn his melancholic “wailing” back into “song.”  If only he will follow her sage advice, he will become the happy soul he wishes to be.

    Fourth Movement:   A Shakespearean Command

    There’s Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair,
    And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair!
    Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see
    Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree;
    Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb,
    And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time!
    Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower,
    And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower —
    And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum —
    And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!

    The speaker now names six young damsels—Sarah, Eliza, Emeline, Harriet, and Susan; she refers to the sixth young damsel—herself—without naming her, only that she is “she with curling hair.”  

    The speaker opines that any one of these young ladies is fit to become a valuable partner for her solo, sad, single young man. The speaker commands the young bachelor to choose one and take her home to be his wife.  

    In order to make that demand, she creates a little drama by having the ladies situated up in a tree. She commands the young man to climb the tree boldly but with caution, paying no attention to “space, or time.”

    The young man then is to select his love and run off to the forest and build her a “bower” and lavish upon her what she wishes, “jewel, or bird, or flower.”  After a wedding of much music and dancing, he and his bride will flit away in glory as they head home.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “Winter is good – his Hoar Delights”

    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “Winter is good – his Hoar Delights”

    For Emily Dickinson, the seasons offered ample opportunities for verse creation, and her love for all of the seasons is quite evident in her poems.  However, her poetic dramas become especially deep and profound in her winter poems.

    First Winter Poem: “Winter is good – his Hoar Delights”

    Emily Dickinson creates speakers who are every bit as a tricky as Robert Frost’s tricky speakers. Her two-stanza, eight-line lyric announcing, “Winter is good” attests to the poet’s skill of seemingly praising while showing disdain in the same breath.

    The rime scheme of “Winter is good – his Hoar Delights” enforces the slant rime predilection with the ABAB approximation in each stanza.  All of the rimes are near or  slant in the first stanza, while the second boasts a perfect rime in Rose/goes.

    Winter is good – his Hoar Delights

    Winter is good – his Hoar Delights
    Italic flavor yield –
    To Intellects inebriate
    With Summer, or the World –

    Generic as a Quarry
    And hearty – as a Rose –
    Invited with Asperity
    But welcome when he goes.

    Commentary on “Winter is good – his Hoar Delights”

    Emily Dickinson loved all of the seasons, and she found them inspiringly colorful in their many differing attributes.  These seasonal characteristics gave this observant poet much material for her creative little dramas.

    First Stanza: Winter’s Buried Charms

    Winter is good – his Hoar Delights
    Italic flavor yield –
    To Intellects inebriate
    With Summer, or the World –

    The speaker claims rather blandly that “Winter is good” but quickly adds not so plainly that his frost is delightful. That winter’s frost would delight one, however, depends on the individual’s ability to achieve a level of drunkenness with “Summer” or “the World.” 

    For those who fancy summer and become “inebriat[ed]” with the warm season’s charms, winter takes some digging to unearth its buried charm.  And the speaker knows that most folks will never bother to attempt to find anything charming about the season they least favor.

    But those frozen frosts will “yield” their “Italic flavor” to those who are perceptive and desirous enough to pursue any “Delights” that may be held there.  The warmth of the Italian climate renders the summer flavors a madness held in check by an other-worldliness provided by the northern climes.

    The speaker’s knowledge of the climate of Italy need be only superficial to assist in making the implications this speaker makes.  Becoming drunk with winter, therefore, is a very different sport from finding oneself inebriated with summer, which can be, especially with Dickinson, akin to spiritual intoxication.

    Second Stanza: Repository of Fine Qualities

    Generic as a Quarry
    And hearty – as a Rose –
    Invited with Asperity
    But welcome when he goes.

    Nevertheless, the speaker, before her hard-hitting yet softly-applied critique, makes it clear that winter holds much to be honored; after all, the season is “Generic as a Quarry / And hearty – as a Rose.”  It generates enough genuine qualities to be considered a repository like a stone quarry that can be mined for all types of valuable rocks, gems, and granite.

    The season is “hearty” in the same manner that a lovely flower is “hearty.” The rose, although it can be a fickle and finicky plant to cultivate, provides a strength of beauty that rivals other blossoms.    That the freezing season is replete with beauty and its motivating natural elements render it a fertile time for the fertile mind of the poet.

    But despite the useful and luxuriant possibilities of winter, even the mind that is perceptive enough to appreciate its magnanimity has to be relieved when that frozen season leaves the premises or as the speaker so refreshingly puts it, he is “welcome when he goes.” The paradox of being “welcome” when “he goes” offers an apt conclusion to this tongue-in-cheek, left-handed praise of the coldest season.  

    The speaker leaves the reader assured that although she recognizes and even loves winter, she can well do without his more stark realities as she welcomes spring and welcomes saying good-bye to the winter months.

    Full Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet