The speaker in Phillis Wheatley’s “On Virtue” is describing the characteristics of that quality, as she supplicates to the heavenly realms to enrich and enliven her creative ability to produce useful, genuine, and delightful poems.
Introduction and Text of “On Virtue”
Phillis Wheatley’s “On Virtue” creates a speaker who is paying tribute to the coveted life goal of virtue or the characteristic that results from righteousness, integrity, and dedication to the truth. Virtue takes its substance from behavior, that is, right behavior.
The virtuous are those who conduct their life in ways that contribute to freedom, prosperity, peace, and calmness of community. Without a plurality of virtuous folks, a community breaks down, becomes unlivable, causing the virtuous to flee.
The speaker is personifying the quality of virtue, invoking its essential quality to lend its powers to her, and especially to her ability to create her art: she wishes to create “a nobler lay.” Thus, after offering a colorful description of the behavior of “virtue,” the speaker offers a supplication, almost a prayer, that virtue visit her and direct her abilities.
On Virtue
O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach. I cease to wonder, and no more attempt Thine height t’explore, or fathom thy profound. But, O my soul, sink not into despair, Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand Would now embrace thee, hovers o’er thine head. Fain would the heav’n-born soul with her converse, Then seek, then court her for her promis’d bliss.
Auspicious queen, thine heav’nly pinions spread, And lead celestial Chastity along; Lo! now her sacred retinue descends, Array’d in glory from the orbs above. Attend me, Virtue, thro’ my youthful years! O leave me not to the false joys of time! But guide my steps to endless life and bliss. Greatness, or Goodness, say what I shall call thee, To give an higher appellation still, Teach me a better strain, a nobler lay, O thou, enthron’d with Cherubs in the realms of day!
Commentary on “On Virtue”
The speaker is Phillis Wheatley’s “On Virtue” is describing the qualities of virtue. As she muses upon the nature of that outstanding quality, she hopes not only to understand it better but also that it will assist her in creating her poems and songs.
First Stanza: A Valued Quality
O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach. I cease to wonder, and no more attempt Thine height t’explore, or fathom thy profound. But, O my soul, sink not into despair, Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand Would now embrace thee, hovers o’er thine head. Fain would the heav’n-born soul with her converse, Then seek, then court her for her promis’d bliss
The speaker begins by addressing her subject as “bright jewel.” This appellation demonstrates the value that the speaker is placing on her subject, virtue. To her, virtue is like a precious stone that is bright, thus, cheerful. She expresses the wish to understand exactly what “virtue” is. Virtue’s own synonyms demonstrate that the status of “wisdom” remains out of reach for the “fool.”
The speaker then confesses that she will stop musing and trying to examine a quality that remains at such a height and depth that it seems impossible for her to attain. Then the prospect that her soul might sink into despair at abandoning that quality gives rise to her command to her soul not to “sink . . . into despair.”
While she may not become one with virtue, that quality remains “near” her. Also, the “gentle hand” of that quality will continue to “embrace” the speaker. And it will continue to protect her as it “hovers o’er thine head.”
The soul gladly seeks to attain virtue, for that force is “heav’n-born.” The soul wishes to hold court with virtue, and it will seek to do so. And the soul will continue to pursue that quality in order to reach its goal of “bliss”—promised by all great spiritual leaders and avatars.
Second Stanza: A Supplication for Guidance
Auspicious queen, thine heav’nly pinions spread, And lead celestial Chastity along; Lo! now her sacred retinue descends, Array’’d in glory from the orbs above. Attend me, Virtue, thro’ my youthful years! O leave me not to the false joys of time! But guide my steps to endless life and bliss. Greatness, or Goodness, say what I shall call thee, To give an higher appellation still, Teach me a better strain, a nobler lay, O thou, enthron’d with Cherubs in the realms of day!
The speaker then addresses the quality of virtue as “[a]uspicious queen,” again sending the status of that quality into the higher realms, such as royalty. But this special queen possesses wings like an angel, and those wings not only fan out but also motivate the quality of “Chastity,” the state of purity that those seeking virtue gladly embrace.
The speaker begins describing the movement of that “auspicious queen,” as her “retinue” moves downward dressed in “glory” that belongs to the heavenly realm above it. She then commands “Virtue” to listen to her cries for guidance for her young soul during her maturing years.
She then requests that virtue not allow her to remain in the “false joys of time”—a supplication reminiscent of “lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil” (Matthew 6:5-15 KJV). She is seeking the genuine that she knows her soul requires and craves.
She asks to be guided to a life of eternal bliss—the very desire that yoga avatars, such as Paramahansa Yogananda, insist remains inherent in every human soul that incarnates upon Mother Earth. The speaker then describes the quality of virtue as containing greatness and goodness, as she seeks an even “an high appellation” for the name of the quality.
Finally, the speaker supplicates for this blessed, high-moral quality to instruct her so that she may create “a nobler lay.” She reminds that quality—as a way of reminding herself—that virtue retains a celestial, mystic power because it is encircled by “Cherubs” even as the daylight hours grace the atmosphere.
Phillis Wheatley was influenced by Greek and Roman classical literature, as well as by early 18th century British poets, who were also influenced by that same literature.
Introduction and Text of “An Hymn to the Morning”
Phillis Wheatley’s talent was recognized by George Washington, who became a fan of the poet. Wheatley’s verse has earned her the status of a first class American poet, whose style resembles the great British poets, who were also influenced by the classical literature of the early Greeks and Romans.
Phillis Wheatley’s poem “An Hymn to the Morning” consists of ten riming couplets, separated into two quatrains (first and fourth stanzas) and two sestets (second and third stanzas).
An Hymn to the Morning
Attend my lays, ye ever honour’d nine, Assist my labours, and my strains refine; In smoothest numbers pour the notes along, For bright Aurora now demands my song.
Aurora hail, and all the thousand dies, Which deck thy progress through the vaulted skies: The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays, On ev’ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays; Harmonious lays the feather’d race resume, Dart the bright eye, and shake the painted plume.
Ye shady groves, your verdant gloom display To shield your poet from the burning day: Calliope awake the sacred lyre, While thy fair sisters fan the pleasing fire: The bow’rs, the gales, the variegated skies In all their pleasures in my bosom rise.
See in the east th’ illustrious king of day! His rising radiance drives the shades away— But Oh! I feel his fervid beams too strong, And scarce begun, concludes th’ abortive song.
Commentary “An Hymn to the Morning”
Phillis Wheatley was influenced by Greek and Roman classical literature, as well as by early 18th century British poets, who were also influenced by that same literature.
First Quatrain: Invocation to the Muses
Attend my lays, ye ever honour’d nine, Assist my labours, and my strains refine; In smoothest numbers pour the notes along, For bright Aurora now demands my song.
As the early 18th century poets such as Alexander Pope did, the speaker of Wheatley’s poem addresses the nine muses, asking them to guide her hand, heart, and mind as she composes her song.
The nine muses are the goddesses who guide and guard the various arts and sciences: Cleo (heroes), Urania (astronomy), Calliope (music), Melpomene (tragedy), Euterpe (lyric poetry), Erato (love), Terpsichore (dance), Thalia (comedy), and Polyhymnia (sacred hymns).
Then the speaker says that dawn, “Aurora” or goddess of dawn, is motivating her to write her song dedicated to the goddess of morning, and the speaker wants the song to flow smoothly like a gentle brook, so she asks the muses to “pour the notes along.” The speaker want to be sure her song is worthy of being dedicated to the important morning deity.
First Sestet: Honoring Dawn’s Arrival
Aurora hail, and all the thousand dies, Which deck thy progress through the vaulted skies: The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays, On ev’ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays; Harmonious lays the feather’d race resume, Dart the bright eye, and shake the painted plume.
As morning approaches, the stars recede from view, and the speaker asks the muses to help her honor dawn’s victory of arrival. The speaker describes the morning’s sun with its far-reaching rays of light. She observes that the light is falling on every leaf, and a gentle breeze is playing upon them.
The humble speaker pays homage to the songs of the birds as she describes their singing as “harmonious,” and she notes that as the birds are looking around, their eyes are darting about, and they are shaking their feathers as they wake up.
Second Sestet: Playful Foregrounding
Ye shady groves, your verdant gloom display To shield your poet from the burning day: Calliope awake the sacred lyre, While thy fair sisters fan the pleasing fire: The bow’rs, the gales, the variegated skies In all their pleasures in my bosom rise.
The speaker bids the trees to “shield your poet from the burning day.” She is over-emphasizing a bit, calling the shade of the trees, “verdant gloom.” The playful comparison moves in service of foregrounding the sun’s brightness as well as the colorful morning’s sun rise.
She addresses Calliope, the muse of music, to play upon the lyre, while her sisters, the other muses, “fan the pleasing fire.” Fanning fire makes it burn brighter, and she is celebrating the rising sun that becomes warmer and brighter as it becomes more visible. The little drama is pleasing the poet as she composes.
Second Quatrain: Light into the Darkness
See in the east th’ illustrious king of day! His rising radiance drives the shades away— But Oh! I feel his fervid beams too strong, And scarce begun, concludes th’ abortive song.
The speaker thinks of leafy alcoves, and gentle breezes, and the sky with its many colors of purple, pink, orange stretching across the vast panorama of blue, and these things give her much pleasure. Then she suddenly exclaims, “look! the sun!,” to whom she refers as the “king of day.”
As the sun rises, all darkness has gradually faded away. The radiance of the sun inspires the speaker so immensely, but then she feels something of a let down: “But Oh! I feel his fervid beams too strong, / And scarce begun, concludes th’ abortive song.” As soon as the sun has fully arrived, then the morning is gone, and her song was celebrating morning, and thus the song must end.
Phillis Wheatley’s classically influenced poem, “On Imagination,” explores the powerful force of human imagination. Wheatley demonstrates her remarkable talent for use of mythological allusion and the classical forms in which she was trained and in which she excelled.
Introduction and Text of “On Imagination”
Phillis Wheatley’s “On Imagination” explores the nature of the human mind as it engages in the fanciful act of imagining. In the opening movement, Wheatley’s speaker offers an invocation [1] to the “imperial queen,” on whom she bestows the royal label, while personifying her subject.
Phillis Wheatley’s classical training in poetry is on full display as she composes a useful “invocation” that helps set the tone for her poem. Wheatley’s invocation also performs the traditional function of supplicating to the muses or to a deity for guidance and inspiration in composing the poem in progress.
The poet has her speaker follow such luminaries as the world-renowned, classical Greek poet, Homer, in his Odyssey [2 ]and the British mastercraftsman and classic poet, John Milton, in his Paradise Lost [3] .
On Imagination
Thy various works, imperial queen, we see, How bright their forms! how deck’d with pomp by thee! Thy wond’rous acts in beauteous order stand, And all attest how potent is thine hand.
From Helicon’s refulgent heights attend, Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend: To tell her glories with a faithful tongue, Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.
Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies, Till some lov’d object strikes her wand’ring eyes, Whose silken fetters all the senses bind, And soft captivity involves the mind.
Imagination! who can sing thy force? Or who describe the swiftness of thy course? Soaring through air to find the bright abode, Th’ empyreal palace of the thund’ring God, We on thy pinions can surpass the wind, And leave the rolling universe behind: From star to star the mental optics rove, Measure the skies, and range the realms above. There in one view we grasp the mighty whole, Or with new worlds amaze th’ unbounded soul.
Though Winter frowns to Fancy’s raptur’d eyes The fields may flourish, and gay scenes arise; The frozen deeps may break their iron bands, And bid their waters murmur o’er the sands. Fair Flora may resume her fragrant reign, And with her flow’ry riches deck the plain; Sylvanus may diffuse his honours round, And all the forest may with leaves be crown’d: Show’rs may descend, and dews their gems disclose, And nectar sparkle on the blooming rose.
Such is thy pow’r, nor are thine orders vain, O thou the leader of the mental train: In full perfection all thy works are wrought, And thine the sceptre o’er the realms of thought. Before thy throne the subject-passions bow, Of subject-passions sov’reign ruler thou; At thy command joy rushes on the heart, And through the glowing veins the spirits dart.
Fancy might now her silken pinions try To rise from earth, and sweep th’ expanse on high: From Tithon’s bed now might Aurora rise, Her cheeks all glowing with celestial dies, While a pure stream of light o’erflows the skies. The monarch of the day I might behold, And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold, But I reluctant leave the pleasing views, Which Fancy dresses to delight the Muse; Winter austere forbids me to aspire, And northern tempests damp the rising fire; They chill the tides of Fancy’s flowing sea, Cease then, my song, cease the unequal lay.
Commentary on “On Imagination”
The speaker of Phillis Wheatley’s “On Imagination” is dramatizing the power of the human imagination to create any situation it desires. However, remaining a rational, thinking mind ensconced in reality, the speaker returns to the physical plane of being to make a humble claim about her own use of imagination.
Opening Movement: The Classical Invocation
Thy various works, imperial queen, we see, How bright their forms! how deck’d with pomp by thee! Thy wond’rous acts in beauteous order stand, And all attest how potent is thine hand.
From Helicon’s refulgent heights attend, Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend: To tell her glories with a faithful tongue, Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.
Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies, Till some lov’d object strikes her wand’ring eyes, Whose silken fetters all the senses bind, And soft captivity involves the mind.
The speaker begins by describing some of the creations that have resulted from the works of this imperial queen, Imagination. She asserts that the queen’s many varied “works” reveal bright forms that have been accompanied by “pomp.” The works are also “wond’rous” as they appear in a “beauteous order.” And they all prove the exquisite power that rests in that imperial queen’s hand.
The speaker engages an allusion to the Greek mythological mountain of Helicon [4], whose springs became known as a fount of poetic inspiration. It was there that the poet, Hesiod, was inspired to compose his Theogony, a work that offers a narration about the origin of the world as it was formed from chaos.
Hesiod’s famous opus also describes the genesis and historical progression of the Greek gods. Also allusive is her brilliant invocation. This speaker wishes to tell with “a faithful tongue” the glories of the work of the Imagination. She avers that as “Fancy flies,” that facility eventually lands on some object of intense interest, and then the mind takes over to wrap that object in “silken fetters.”
Second Movement: The Astonishing Force
The second movement begins the intense exploration of the “force” that the human mind through employment of its tool, the imagination, wields upon nature, time, and space.
The speaker implies that the imagination, in fact, has such a force that it is likely that no one can do it justice by speaking about it: no one can “sing” it force, and no one can fully “describe” the speed at which the imagination can move along its path. Still, she is motivated to offer her attempt to shed some light on the subject.
The speaker avers that through the powerful force of imagination the human mind can fly through space in search of the abode of the “thund’ring God.” The mind through the imagination can fly past the wind and abandon the confines of the “rolling universe.”
On the wings of imagination, the human mind may flit from “star to star” and take a measuring tape to the skies, while roaming above the sky. The mind through imagination can bring the human consciousness to a pinnacle from which s/he may “grasp the mighty whole,” while also discovering new places that will astonish even the “unbounded soul.”
Third Stanza: Imaginative Declarations
The speaker then makes an amazing claim that through the imagination the ravages of the season of winter can be transformed, and spring-like weather may again become refulgent.
The fields may again hold the growing grain. Frozen soil and streams may come alive and move unfettered. Flowers again may send out their fragrance as their colorful beauty again decorates the landscape.
Alluding to the Roman god, Sylvanus [5], the speaker insists that the “forest”—”silva” is Latin for “forest”—may become festooned with green leaves, replacing the brown, bare branches of winter.
Spring rains may sprinkle the landscape while dew may form and gleam in the morning sunlight. And roses may hold their “nectar sparkle.” All of this is made possible by the forceful functioning of the mental process known as “imagination.”
Fourth Stanza: The Powerful Force for Creativity
The speaker then affirms that what she has described as issuing from the force of imagination is, in fact, true. She asserts that the power of imagination remains in effect and what that power orders comes into being because imagination is the “leader of the mental train.” According to the dictates of this speaker’s thinking, the central invigorating feature of the mind is imagination.
After the imperial queen, the imagination, lifts her staff over the heads of the “realms of thought,” her subjects, like all good subjects, “bow.” This queen remains their “sovereign ruler.”
Interestingly, the speaker finds that as this ruler asserts her power, instead of resistance and doubt claiming the subjects, their hearts are filled with joy. This joy rushes in and then “spirits dart” through those “glowing veins.”
Thus, the presence and powerful force of the imagination offers the host mental facility only positive attributes. With an inspirational joy flooding the body and mind, the host remains in a regenerative state of awareness.
Fifth Movement: A Humble Return to Reality
The speaker next refers to the wildly imaginative venture of “ris[ing] from earth” and rushing through the expanse far distant above the earth-planet. Alluding again to Greek mythology, she employs the character Tithon [6], whose bed from which dawn (Aurora) may awaken in a stream of pure light—an occasion that would be quite different from the activities experienced by those characters.
The imagination can change all negativity to positivity, but the speaker, however, must return to earthly reality by admitting that she must leave those halcyon realms to which her imaginative journey has aspired. While an imaginative winter may turn to spring, the reality of the empirical winter forbids such flights of fancy.
Thus, the speaker reluctantly returns to “northern tempests” that will douse the fire of pure imagination. While Fancy’s “flowing sea” begins to chill, the speaker must end her song, which she claims is inferior to the imaginative heights she had reached earlier in her singing.
Sources
[1] Editors. “Invocation.” Britannica. Accessed August 26, 2023.
[2] Homer. Odyssey. Translation by Classics Archive. Accessed August 26, 2023.
[3] John Milton.Paradise Lost. Poetry Foundation. Accessed August 26, 2023.
[4] Curators. “Helicon.” Fandom: Greek Mythology. Accessed August 26, 2023.
[5] Editors. “Sylvanus: Roman God.” Britannica. Accessed August 26, 2023.
[6] Curators. “Tithon.” GreekMythology.com. Accessed August 26, 2023.
In addition to poetry, James Weldon Johnson also composed many songs that have become popular. His bluesy poem/song “Sence You Went Away” features a southern dialect and captures the melancholy that surrounds the individual who has lost a loved one.
Introduction and Text “Sence You Went Away”
James Weldon Johnson’s “Sence You Went Away” creates a speaker/singer who bemoans the loss of a loved one. The poem/song consists of four stanzas, each with the rime scheme AAAB, wherein the final line constitutes the refrain in which the speaker reveals the reason for his melancholy.
The repetition of “seems lak to me” and “sence you went away” emphasizes the pain and sorrow the speaker is experiencing. The refrain becomes a chant-like repetition as he progresses through his report of all that is making him sad. And he is addressing his expressions of sorrow to the individual, who is now absent from his life.
As a poem this works quite well, and as a song it works even more nicely. The poem/song’s use of dialect gives it an authenticity that increases the communication of pain and sorrow. The speaker/singer incorporates and inflicts his sorrow on the world around him, while at the same time making it clear that these transformations are happening within himself.
Sence You Went Away
Seems lak to me de stars don’t shine so bright, Seems lak to me de sun done loss his light, Seems lak to me der’s nothin’ goin’ right, Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me de sky ain’t half so blue, Seems lak to me dat eve’ything wants you, Seems lak to me I don’t know what to do, Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me dat eve’ything is wrong, Seems lak to me de day’s jes twice ez long, Seems lak to me de bird’s forgot his song, Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me I jes can’t he’p but sigh, Seems lak to me ma th’oat keeps gittin’ dry, Seems lak to me a tear stays in ma eye, Sence you went away.
Commentary on “Sence You Went Away”
James Weldon Johnson, an accomplished poet, also composed many songs that have become quite popular. His bluesy “Sence You Went Away” features a southern dialect. Johnson was a Southerner, having been born in 1871 and raised in Jacksonville, Florida, only relocating to New York in 1901.
First Stanza: Expressing Sorrow
Seems lak to me de stars don’t shine so bright, Seems lak to me de sun done loss his light, Seems lak to me der’s nothin’ goin’ right, Sence you went away.
The speaker is addressing an individual, who is likely a former lover or very good friend. The speaker expresses his sorrow by reporting that both the sun and stars do not seem to be shedding light now because of the absence of the addressee. The reader/listener learns nothing about the person who has gone away, only that the speaker’s life has been adversely affected by the loved one’s absence.
Not only do the speaker’s eyes seem no longer to perceive light, but he also feels that nothing in his life is proceeding correctly. He makes it clear that he is not asserting that the world itself has changed; he is merely revealing how things “seem” to him as he repeats throughout the poem, “seems lak to me,” that is, “seems like to me.”
Second Stanza: Absence of Sun
Seems lak to me de sky ain’t half so blue, Seems lak to me dat eve’ything wants you, Seems lak to me I don’t know what to do, Sence you went away.
The absence of sun and starlight affect the shade of the blue sky, which is now presenting itself as only “half” its normal shade. Everything reminds him that he is missing his belovèd. It even appears that everything he sees and does yearns to have this individual back in its purview.
The speaker’s intense exaggeration emphasizes his desire for the return of his missing loved one. Everywhere he looks he sees merely an absence that causes him pain and suffering. He even confesses that he feels unable to decide what he should be doing, if anything at all.
Third Stanza: Nothing Is Right
Seems lak to me dat eve’ything is wrong, Seems lak to me de day’s jes twice ez long, Seems lak to me de bird’s forgot his song, Sence you went away.
Again, the speaker/singer asserts that nothing seems right for him anymore; thus, he feels that “ev’ything is wrong.” And he reveals that time seems to lag because of his sorrow. Pain and suffering cause the human mind and heart to feel time as an oppressor, and that kind of oppression makes minutes seem like hours and days like weeks.
Nature in the form of singing birds is lost on him, and he thus suggests that those birds have even forgotten to sings. His melancholy grays out all of his senses, especially seeing and hearing. Life has lost its luster, light has escaped him, and even pleasant sounds are no longer detectable. And still again, he repeats the reason for his feeling that everything is so wrong in his life.
Fourth Stanza: Fog of Sorrow
Seems lak to me I jes can’t he’p but sigh, Seems lak to me ma th’oat keeps gittin’ dry, Seems lak to me a tear stays in ma eye, Sence you went away.
Finally, the speaker reveals his own behavior has been influenced by the sad fact that the addressee has gone away. He cannot seem to stop sighing, and his throat dries up. He also continue to weep, as he endures the pain of loss.
His physical functions are out of kilter: what needs to be wet is dry, and what needs to be dry is wet. The speaker’s world has transformed into a melancholy fog of sorrow and disorientation—all because his belovèd has gone away.
Kris Delmhorst’s Musical Version of Johnson’s Lyric
There are extant several different musical versions of James Weldon Johnson’s lyric “Sence You Went Away.” I suggest that Kris Delmhorst’s rendition fits perfectly with the sentiment and atmosphere of that lyric. While the other versions are entertaining and well-done, Delmhorst’s version and her singing remain the best in accomplishing the task of capturing the exact feeling of Johnson’s lyric.
Kris Delmhorst singing her version of Johnson’s “Sense You Went Away”
James Weldon Johnson’s funeral oration, “Go Down Death,” offers one the most beautiful and heartfelt expressions of the soul’s journey through life.
Introduction and Text of “Go Down Death”
The epigraph to James Weldon Johnson’s poem, “Go Down Death,” from God’s Trombones: Seven Negro Sermons in Verse, identifies the poem as a dramatic “funeral oration.” This dramatization of the soul’s journey from life to death and beyond remains one of the most beautiful metaphoric expressions on the subject.
The poem, “Go Down Death,” features ten versagraphs in which a pastor ministers to a grieving family. The uplifting sermon remains an example of Johnson’s marvelous craftsmanship with words and profound ideas regarding life and death.
Go Down Death
(A Funeral Sermon)
Weep not, weep not, She is not dead; She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus. Heart-broken husband—weep no more; Grief-stricken son—weep no more; Left-lonesome daughter —weep no more; She only just gone home.
Day before yesterday morning, God was looking down from his great, high heaven, Looking down on all his children, And his eye fell on Sister Caroline, Tossing on her bed of pain. And God’s big heart was touched with pity, With the everlasting pity.
And God sat back on his throne, And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand: Call me Death! And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice That broke like a clap of thunder: Call Death!—Call Death! And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven Till it reached away back to that shadowy place, Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.
And Death heard the summons, And he leaped on his fastest horse, Pale as a sheet in the moonlight. Up the golden street Death galloped, And the hooves of his horses struck fire from the gold, But they didn’t make no sound. Up Death rode to the Great White Throne, And waited for God’s command.
And God said: Go down, Death, go down, Go down to Savannah, Georgia, Down in Yamacraw, And find Sister Caroline. She’s borne the burden and heat of the day, She’s labored long in my vineyard, And she’s tired— She’s weary— Go down, Death, and bring her to me.
And Death didn’t say a word, But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse, And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides, And out and down he rode, Through heaven’s pearly gates, Past suns and moons and stars; on Death rode, Leaving the lightning’s flash behind; Straight down he came.
While we were watching round her bed, She turned her eyes and looked away, She saw what we couldn’t see; She saw Old Death. She saw Old Death Coming like a falling star. But Death didn’t frighten Sister Caroline; He looked to her like a welcome friend. And she whispered to us: I’m going home, And she smiled and closed her eyes.
And Death took her up like a baby, And she lay in his icy arms, But she didn’t feel no chill. And death began to ride again— Up beyond the evening star, Into the glittering light of glory, On to the Great White Throne. And there he laid Sister Caroline On the loving breast of Jesus.
And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears, And he smoothed the furrows from her face, And the angels sang a little song, And Jesus rocked her in his arms, And kept a-saying: Take your rest, Take your rest.
Weep not—weep not, She is not dead; She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.
Wintley Phipps’ amazing recitation of “Go Down, Death”
Commentary on “Go Down Death”
James Weldon Johnson’s “Go Down Death,” a dramatization of the soul’s journey from life to death and beyond, remains one of the most beautiful metaphoric expressions on the subject.
First Versagraph: A Command not to Weep
Weep not, weep not, She is not dead; She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus. Heart-broken husband—weep no more; Grief-stricken son—weep no more; Left-lonesome daughter —weep no more; She only just gone home.
The often rhythmic, deeply dramatic oration begins with a refrain, “Weep not, weep not.” This command is directed to the family of a deceased woman, who is survived by a “Heart-broken husband, a Grief-stricken son, and a Left-lonesome daughter.”
The minister delivering the funeral sermon tasks himself with convincing the grieving family that their loved one is not dead, because she is resting in the bosom of Jesus, and she has only just gone home.
Second Versagraph: God’s Pity and What’s Often Forgotten
Day before yesterday morning, God was looking down from his great, high heaven, Looking down on all his children, And his eye fell on Sister Caroline, Tossing on her bed of pain. And God’s big heart was touched with pity, With the everlasting pity.
The minister creates a beautiful narrative beginning on the day just before the beloved died. He says that God was looking down from his great, high heaven, and He happened to glimpse Sister Caroline, who was “tossing on her bed of pain.” God in His great mercy was filled “with everlasting pity.”
The minister weaves a beautiful narrative designed not only to relieve the pain of the mourners but also to let them know a truth that is so often forgotten at the time of loss and grieving at death.
Third Versagraph: A Creature not to be Feared
And God sat back on his throne, And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand: Call me Death! And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice That broke like a clap of thunder: Call Death!—Call Death! And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven Till it reached away back to that shadowy place, Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.
God instructed His “tall, bright angel” standing on His right to summon Death. The angel then summoned Death from the darkness in which he is always waiting with his pack of white horses.
Death is now becoming an anthropomorphic creature who will perform a function directed by God. If God is directing the creative Death, then mourners will begin to understand that Death is not a creature to be feared, only to be understood as a servant of the Belovèd Lord.
Fourth Versagraph: Death before the Great White Throne
And Death heard the summons, And he leaped on his fastest horse, Pale as a sheet in the moonlight. Up the golden street Death galloped, And the hooves of his horses struck fire from the gold, But they didn’t make no sound. Up Death rode to the Great White Throne, And waited for God’s command.
Hearing the call, Death leaps on his fastest stead. Death is pale in the moonlight, but he continues on, speeding down the golden street. And although the horses’ hooves “struck fire f rom the the gold,” no sound emanated from the clash. Finally, Death arrives at the Great White Throne, where he waits for God to give him his orders.
Fifth Versagraph: Death Goes down to Georgia
And God said: Go down, Death, go down, Go down to Savannah, Georgia, Down in Yamacraw, And find Sister Caroline. She’s borne the burden and heat of the day, She’s labored long in my vineyard, And she’s tired— She’s weary— Go down, Death, and bring her to me.
God commands Death to travel down to Georgia in Savannah. There he must find “Sister Caroline.” The poor sister has suffered for a long time; she has been a valiant laborer for God. Now she has grown too tired and too debilitated to continue on in her present incarnation.
Thus, God instructs Death to fetch the soul of Sister Caroline to Him. Knowing that Death is simply the conveyance employed by the Blessèd Creator to bring His children home is a concept that can bring comfort and relief to the mourners.
Sixth Versagraph: Death Obeys God’s Command
And Death didn’t say a word, But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse, And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides, And out and down he rode, Through heaven’s pearly gates, Past suns and moons and stars; on Death rode, Leaving the lightning’s flash behind; Straight down he came.
Without uttering a sound, Death immediately complies with God’s command. Death rides out through “the pearly gates, / Past suns and moons and stars.” He heads straight down to Sister Caroline, to whom God had directed him.
Understanding the nature of God’s servant “Death” continues to build hope and understanding in the heart of the mourners. Their grieving can be assuaged and directed to a whole new arena of theological thought and practice.
Seventh Versagraph: Welcoming God’s Emissary
While we were watching round her bed, She turned her eyes and looked away, She saw what we couldn’t see; She saw Old Death. She saw Old Death Coming like a falling star. But Death didn’t frighten Sister Caroline; He looked to her like a welcome friend. And she whispered to us: I’m going home, And she smiled and closed her eyes.
Upon seeing Death approaching, Sister Caroline welcomes him as if he were an old friend, and she informs the others who were standing around her, ministering to her, that she was not afraid. Sister Caroline then tells them she is going home, as she smiles and closes her eyes for the last time.
By seeing that the dying soul can be so accepting of her new circumstance of leaving the physical body and the earth level of existence, the mourners continue to grow in acceptance as they become capable of letting their grief go. They can replace grief with the joy of knowing God and God’s ways.
That God simply uses Death for his own purposes goes a long way to healing the misunderstanding that one life on earth is all each soul has. The physical level of being becomes a mere step in the evolution through which the soul passes on its way back to its permanent home in God.
Eighth Versagraph: The Soul Moving into the Astral World
And Death took her up like a baby, And she lay in his icy arms, But she didn’t feel no chill. And death began to ride again— Up beyond the evening star, Into the glittering light of glory, On to the Great White Throne. And there he laid Sister Caroline On the loving breast of Jesus.
Death then takes Sister Caroline in his arms as he would a baby. Even though Death’s arm were icy, she experiences no cold. Sister is now able to feel with her astral body, not her physical encasement.
Again Death rides beyond the physical evening star and on into the astral light of “glory.” He approaches the great throne of God and commits the soul of Sister Caroline to the loving care of Christ.
Ninth Versagraph: Sister Shed Delusion of Earth Life
And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears, And he smoothed the furrows from her face, And the angels sang a little song, And Jesus rocked her in his arms, And kept a-saying: Take your rest, Take your rest.
Jesus brushes away all sorrow from the soul of Sister Caroline. She soothes her, and she loses the deep furrows that marred her face, after long living in the world of sorrows and trials. The angels then serenade her as Christ comforts her. Sister Caroline can finally rest from her all her trials and tribulations; she can now shed the delusion that kept her hidebound as she passed through life on the physical plane.
Tenth Versagraph: Repeated Command not to Weep
Weep not—weep not, She is not dead; She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.
The minister then repeats his opening refrain, “Weep not—weep not, / She is not dead; / She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.” The refrain becomes a chant that will relieve all souls of pain and headache. Resting in the bosom of Christ will now become the aspiration for all listeners as they begin to understand truly that, “she is not dead.”
They will become aware that if Sister Caroline is not dead, neither will they die, when the time to leave this earth comes. They will understand that their own souls can look forward to resting in the arms of Jesus the Christ.
A poetic retelling of the story about Noah and the Ark, this dramatic poem is one of Johnson’s seven sermons in verse from his collection, God’s Trombones. At certain points in the story, the narrator offers his own interpretations, embellishing the tale and adding further interesting features.
Introduction and Text of “Noah Built the Ark”
James Weldon Johnson’s “Noah Built the Ark” offers an entertaining and educational experience in poetry. Johnson’s clear vision in biblical lore is on full display in his narrative retelling of the Noah and the Ark story from Genesis 6:9–9:17 KJV. The poet is offering an oratory tone in the style of a southern black preacher. His retelling features such plain language that even a child can understand the images and events immediately.
Johnson brought out his collection God’s Trombones: Seven Negro Sermons in Verse in 1927. The collection begins with a prayer, “Listen Lord–A Prayer,” and then features seven verse-sermons, “The Creation,” “The Prodigal Son,” “Go Down Death,” “Noah Built the Ark,” “The Crucifixion,” “Let My People Go,” and “The Judgment Day.”
During his lifetime, Johnson had attended many church services throughout the South, and he was inspired by the oratorical style of the many black preachers, whose preaching he admired. A Southerner himself born in Jacksonville, Florida, Johnson had an ear for dialect and rhythms in speech. All of his poetry is enhanced by his talent for language and its specialties of speech.
Noah Built the Ark
In the cool of the day— God was walking— Around in the Garden of Eden. And except for the beasts, eating in the fields, And except for the birds, flying through the trees, The garden looked like it was deserted. And God called out and said: Adam, Adam, where art thou? And Adam, with Eve behind his back, Came out from where he was hiding. And God said: Adam, What hast thou done? Thou hast eaten of the tree! And Adam, With his head hung down, Blamed it on the woman.
For after God made the first man Adam, He breathed a sleep upon him; Then he took out of Adam one of his ribs, And out of that rib made woman. And God put the man and woman together In the beautiful Garden of Eden, With nothing to do the whole day long But play all around in the garden. And God called Adam before him, And he said to him; Listen now, Adam, Of all the fruit in the garden you can eat, Except of the tree of knowledge; For the day thou eatest of that tree, Thou shalt surely die.
Then pretty soon along came Satan. Old Satan came like a snake in the grass To try out his tricks on the woman. I imagine I can see Old Satan now A-sidling up to the woman, I imagine the first word Satan said was: Eve, you’re surely good looking. I imagine he brought her a present, too,— And, if there was such a thing in those ancient days, He brought her a looking-glass.
And Eve and Satan got friendly— Then Eve got to walking on shaky ground; Don’t ever get friendly with Satan.— And they started to talk about the garden, And Satan said: Tell me, how do you like The fruit on the nice, tall, blooming tree Standing in the middle of the garden? And Eve said: That’s the forbidden fruit, Which if we eat we die.
And Satan laughed a devilish little laugh, And he said to the woman: God’s fooling you, Eve; That’s the sweetest fruit in the garden, I know you can eat that forbidden fruit, And I know that you will not die.
And Eve looked at the forbidden fruit, And it was red and ripe and juicy. And Eve took a taste, and she offered it to Adam, And Adam wasn’t able to refuse; So he took a bite, and they both sat down And ate the forbidden fruit.— Back there, six thousand years ago, Man first fell by woman— Lord, and he’s doing the same today.
And that’s how sin got into this world. And man, as he multiplied on the earth, Increased in wickedness and sin. He went on down from sin to sin, From wickedness to wickedness, Murder and lust and violence, All kinds of fornications, Till the earth was corrupt and rotten with flesh, An abomination in God’s sight.
And God was angry at the sins of men. And God got sorry that he ever made man. And he said: I will destroy him. I’ll bring down judgment on him with a flood. I’ll destroy ev’rything on the face of the earth, Man, beasts and birds, and creeping things. And he did— Ev’rything but the fishes.
But Noah was a just and righteous man. Noah walked and talked with God. And, one day, God said to Noah, He said: Noah, build thee an ark. Build it out of gopher wood. Build it good and strong. Pitch it within and pitch it without. And build it according to the measurements That I will give to thee. Build it for you and all your house, And to save the seeds of life on earth; For I’m going to send down a mighty flood To destroy this wicked world
And Noah commenced to work on the ark. And he worked for about one hundred years. And ev’ry day the crowd came round To make fun of Old Man Noah. And they laughed and they said: Tell us, old man, Where do you expect to sail that boat Up here amongst the hills?
But Noah kept on a-working. And ev’ry once in a while Old Noah would stop, He’d lay down his hammer and lay down his saw, And take his staff in hand; And with his long, white beard a-flying in the wind, And the gospel light a-gleaming from his eye, Old Noah would preach God’s word:
Sinners, oh, sinners, Repent, for the judgment is at hand. Sinners, oh, sinners, Repent, for the time is drawing nigh. God’s wrath is gathering in the sky. God’s a-going to rain down rain on rain. God’s a-going to loosen up the bottom of the deep, And drown this wicked world. Sinners, repent while yet there’s time For God to change his mind.
Some smart young fellow said: This old man’s Got water on the brain. And the crowd all laughed—Lord, but didn’t they laugh; And they paid no mind to Noah, But kept on sinning just the same.
One bright and sunny morning, Not a cloud nowhere to be seen, God said to Noah: Get in the ark! And Noah and his folks all got in the ark, And all the animals, two by two, A he and a she marched in. Then God said: Noah, Bar the door! And Noah barred the door.
And a little black spot begun to spread, Like a bottle of ink spilling over the sky; And the thunder rolled like a rumbling drum; And the lightning jumped from pole to pole; And it rained down rain, rain, rain, Great God, but didn’t it rain! For forty days and forty nights Waters poured down and waters gushed up; And the dry land turned to sea. And the old ark-a she begun to ride; The old ark-a she begun to rock; Sinners came a-running down to the ark; Sinners came a-swimming all round the ark; Sinners pleaded and sinners prayed— Sinners wept and sinners wailed— But Noah’d done barred the door.
And the trees and the hills and the mountain tops Slipped underneath the waters. And the old ark sailed that lonely sea— For twelve long months she sailed that sea, A sea without a shore.
Then the waters begun to settle down, And the ark touched bottom on the tallest peak Of old Mount Ararat. The dove brought Noah the olive leaf, And Noah when he saw that the grass was green, Opened up the ark, and they all climbed down, The folks, and the animals, two by two, Down from the mount to the valley. And Noah wept and fell on his face And hugged and kissed the dry ground.
And then— God hung out his rainbow cross the sky, And he said to Noah: That’s my sign! No more will I judge the world by flood— Next time I’ll rain down fire.
Recitation of “Noah Built the Ark”:
Commentary on “Noah Built the Ark”
While the basic story remains a parallel to the original, the narrator offers his own embellishments at certain points that any listener will recognize as departures from the biblical version. This embellishments stem from the narrator’s personal interpretations of the image and events.
First Movement: Original Creation
The actual story featuring Noah and the ark begins in the third movement; the narrator first builds up to the purpose for Noah having to build the ark. Thus, the opening scenes show God just after having created Adam and Eve, summoning them to hold them responsible for their disobedience.
God knows that they have done the one and only thing He had told them not to do: they have eaten of the “tree of knowledge.” God had told them if they disobeyed this one rule, they would die.
Unfortunately, Satan had persuaded Eve to eat of the fruit, making her believe that God was lying to her. Thus, she ate and convinced Adam to eat, and soon they had lost their paradise in Eden.
The narrator creatively describes the characters in his narrative in colorful ways, for example he had “Old Satan” “[a]-silding up the woman.” Then Satan, who moves “like a snake in the grass,” appeals to the woman’s vanity telling her “you’re surely good looking” and then imagining that Satan gave Eve a gift of a “looking-glass” to emphasize her vanity.
Second Movement: Satan’s Seduction
The narrator now goes into some detail as he has Satan seducing Eve to commit the one sin she had been warned against. Satan belts forth a “devilish little laugh” upon hearing that God had told that pair that they would die if they ate of the forbidden fruit. Satan tells Eve, “God’s fooling you.” He then tells her that the fruit she is forbidden is the “sweetest fruit in the garden” and insists that she can enjoy that fruit without dying.
Eve is convinced, eats the fruit, convinces Adam to eat the fruit, and “Man first fell by woman— / Lord, and he’s doing the same today.” The narrator jokingly demonstrates the rift that began between man and woman with the committing of the original sin.
So now mankind multiplied upon the earth, and not only did people increase, but “wickedness and sin” also increased, and kept on increasing until the corruption became “[a]n abomination in God’s sight.”
Third Movement: Corruption and Anger
The corruption made God angry, and the narrator states that “God got sorry that he ever made man.” And then God decides to destroy mankind by flooding the earth. The narrator says that God planned to destroy all life on earth—except “the fishes.”
The narrator is inserting a bit of comedy into his narration because he knows everyone already is aware that God, in fact, instructed Noah to save all animal life. The claim that God would save only the “fishes” is funny, though, because the fishes are the only life forms that can live in the water, a fact that would obviate the necessity of bringing a pair of them into the ark for saving, as was done with the land animals.
Because Noah was not a man of sin and corruption but a “just and righteous man,” who “walked and talked with God,” God chooses Noah to be his instrument in saving a portion of His Creation.
Thus, God instructs Noah to build an ark for which God gives specific instructions: to be made of gopherwood, “good and strong,” pitched inside and out, and according to the dimensions handed down by the Creator.
God tells Noah that He is going to send down a flood to “destroy this wicked world.” But the house/family of Noah would be spared, and God wanted Noah to help Him “save the seeds of life on earth.”
Noah then obeys God’s command, begins building the ark, working for “one hundred years,” experiencing ridicule daily as folks “make fun of Old Man Noah,” quipping, “Where do you expect to sail that boat / Up here amongst the hills?”
Fourth Movement: Building and Preaching
Noah remains undeterred, working on the ark, but every now and then, he would cease his ark building and offer a sermon. In his sermon, he would tell the “sinners” that they needed to repent because God was going to send “rain down rain on rain.”
Because of all the sinning and corruption, God’s wrath would “drown this wicked world.” Noah encourages the sinners to turn their lives around while there is still time for “God to change his mind.” In response to Noah, a laughing young reprobate quips: “This old man’s / Got water on the brain.” And then everyone else laughs.
Paying no attention to Noah’s warning, they keep on sinning. Then on a bright, sunny morning, the day had come. God instructs Noah to gather pairs of animals and take them along with his family into the ark and “Bar the door!” Then similar to ink spilling over a page, a black spot in the sky begins to spread, and the rain begins—pouring rain for forty days and night.
And many sinners come to the ark “a-running” and “a-swimming” around the ark, pleading to be let in, but it is too late. Though the sinners continue to weep and wail, “Noah’d done barred the door.”
Fifth Movement: The Promise
The narrator then describes the flooded earth, where trees, hills, mountain tops all “slipped underneath the waters.” And for “twelve long months,” the ark sails on a sea that possesses no shore.
Finally, the waters begin to recede, and ark settles down on the tall peak of Mount Ararat. A dove appears to Noah with an olive leaf, altering him that the flood is over, and anew beginning is at hand for all of the inmates of the Ark.
After leaving the ark, the righteous Noah “wept and fell on his face / And hugged and kissed the dry ground.” God then stretches a “rainbow across the sky” and promises Noah that the rainbow would be his reminder that He would never again “judge the world by flood.”
But then God warns that “Next time I’ll rain down fire.” Throughout his retelling of the Noah and the Ark story, the narrator has often added embellishments stemming from his own idiosyncratic interpretations.
The narrator’s final embellishment that God promised to end the world next by fire cannot be found in the biblical KJV version of that tale, but many instances in that version of the Holy Scripture do imply that God might employ the fire element the next time He feels compelled to destroy His Creation.
The speaker in Robert Frost’s “And All We Call American” attempts to play down the Columbian heroic status by castigating the great explorer for not having the ability to predict the future.
Introduction and Text of “And All We Call American”
The speaker in Robert Frost’s poem “And All We Call American” attempts a retelling of the familiar story of Christopher Columbus. In so doing, he questions the legendary heroism of the explorer.
No one can deny that the miscalculation of landing on what is now the North American continent instead of the South Asian country of the exploration’s intent—India—opens itself to a certain level of scrutiny.
But the ultimate consequence of the discovery greatly outweighs the unintended nature of the discovery. The importance of the North American continent, particularly the United States of America, for the world remains undeniable. Despite the current failure to appreciate these Western values, those values continue to uplift cultures from the dire straits of physical and moral poverty.
Frostian Curmudgeonry
Even as he took on the reputation of a belovèd poet of nature and human feeling, Robert Frost remained a life-long contrarian and a specialized curmudgeon. Thus instead of celebrating the Columbian legendary figure who opened up the Old World to a New World, he has his speaker concentrate of the limitations of the explorer.
That Columbus was not capable of imagining what the United States of America, Canada, and Mexico would become is not a particularly egregious failure. Excepting clairvoyants, no one else of the time period would have been able to predict any better.
While Frost has attempted to produce a poem that is both historical and philosophical
by having his speaker employ the Columbian expedition, the poem’s cranky bitterness ultimately says more about the speaker/poet himself than about the objective nature of the significance of the voyage of Christopher Columbus.
And All We Call American
Columbus may have worked the wind A new and better way to Ind And also proved the world a ball, But how about the wherewithal? Not just for scientific news Had the queen backed him for a cruise.
Remember he had made the test Finding the East by sailing West. But had he found it ? Here he was Without one trinket from Ormuz To save the queen from family censure For her investment in his future.
There had been something strangely wrong With every coast he tried along. He could imagine nothing barrener. The trouble was with him the mariner. He wasn’t off a mere degree; His reckoning was off a sea.
And to intensify the drama Another mariner Da Gama Came just then sailing into port From the same general resort, But with the gold in hand to show for His claim it was another Ophir.
Had but Columbus known enough He might have boldly made the bluff That better than Da Gama’s gold He had been given to behold The race’s future trial place, A fresh start for the human race.
He might have fooled them in Madrid. I was deceived by what he did. If I had had my way when young I should have had Columbus sung As a god who had given us A more than Moses’ exodus.
But all he did was spread the room Of our enacting out the doom Of being in each other’s way, And so put off the weary day When we would have to put our mind On how to crowd but still be kind.
For these none too apparent gains He got no more than dungeon chains And such small posthumous renown (A country named for him, a town, A holiday) as where he is He may not recognize as his.
They say his flagship’s unlaid ghost Still probes and dents our rocky coast With animus approaching hate, And for not turning out a strait He has cursed every river mouth From fifty north to fifty south.
Some day our navy I predict Will take in tow this derelict And lock him through Culebra Cut, His eyes as good (or bad) as shut To all the modern works of man And all we call American.
America is hard to see. Less partial witnesses than he In book on book have testified They could not see it from outside — Or inside either for that matter. We know the literary chatter.
Columbus, as I say, will miss All he owes to the artifice Of tractor-plow and motor-drill. To naught but his own force of will Or at most some Andean quake Will he ascribe this lucky break.
High purpose makes the hero rude: He will not stop for gratitude. But let him show his haughty stern To what was never his concern Except as it denied him way To fortune-hunting in Cathay.
He will be starting pretty late. He’ll find that Asiatic state Is about tired of being looted While having its beliefs disputed. His can be no such easy raid As Cortez on the Aztecs made.
Commentary on Robert Frost’s “And All We Call American”
The speaker in Robert Frost’s “And All We Call American” attempts to play down the Columbian heroic status by castigating the great explorer for not having the ability to predict the future.
First Stanza: Promise vs Problem
Columbus may have worked the wind A new and better way to Ind And also proved the world a ball, But how about the wherewithal? Not just for scientific news Had the queen backed him for a cruise.
In the opening stanza, the speaker refers to the Columbian legendary mission that confirmed the scientific theory that Earth was round and that one could end up in the East by sailing West.
The speaker then throws shade at the feat by implying that not enough loot had been procured from the journey: after all, the queen was not especially interested in confirming a scientific theory; she wanted gold, spices, and other goods that usually took an arduous overland journey to reach her part of the world.
At this point, the speaker has introduced a conflict, placing bold discovery against material possession. Because that conflict is inherent in nearly every worldly endeavor, to complain about it, or even point it out, is somewhat naïve.
Second Stanza: Discovery vs Disappointment
Remember he had made the test Finding the East by sailing West. But had he found it ? Here he was Without one trinket from Ormuz To save the queen from family censure For her investment in his future.
In the second stanza, the speaker spotlights Columbus’ achievement of sailing west to get to the East. He then poses a question: what did the explorer really find? But then he jarringly shifts to the material possessions that the queen was expecting by claiming that the explorer brought back not even “one trinket from Ormuz.”
The Ormuz trinket becomes a symbol for the Eastern wealth that the queen had been counting on. The speaker implies that the queen’s family would not be happy with her for backing such an unprofitable “investment.”
Third Stanza: Columbus’ Miscalculation
There had been something strangely wrong With every coast he tried along. He could imagine nothing barrener. The trouble was with him the mariner. He wasn’t off a mere degree; His reckoning was off a sea.
The speaker now shows clear disdain for Columbus for not recognizing that he had not landed in India. The speaker imagines that the mariner searching the barren coasts for the Indian riches and not finding them simply remains perplexed.
The speaker emphasizes the fact that Columbus not only managed to be off by a degree or so, but that he was off by a whole ocean. The speaker seems to take glee in revealing such an error by such a brave man, who has in fact sailed over a whole ocean and has now discovered a heretofore unknown land. Thus the speaker’s lack of empathy and imagination are revealed more than the fact that the a brave sea-farer had failed to reach India.
Fourth Stanza: Da Gama’s Success
And to intensify the drama Another mariner Da Gama Came just then sailing into port From the same general resort, But with the gold in hand to show for His claim it was another Ophir.
The speaker now doubles down on his Columbian criticism. While Columbus returned home without riches in tow, the explorer Vasco da Gama came home with gold from Africa.
The speaker’s harsh tone furthers his grift against the brave Columbus. By concentrating on material wealth, he is sure he has a good case for humiliating the failed Columbus by playing up the success of da Gama.
But that comparison in hindsight levels the criticism to failure, for the voyage of Columbus is much more widely known than that of da Gama. The importance of da Gama’s gold pales in comparison to the importance of the Columbian discovery of a whole New World.
Fifth Stanza: The Absurdity of a Missed Bluff
Had but Columbus known enough He might have boldly made the bluff That better than Da Gama’s gold He had been given to behold The race’s future trial place, A fresh start for the human race.
The speaker now presents the ridiculous notion that if Columbus had been smart enough, if could have told the queen and any others dejected by lack of material riches that he had discovered a place where the future of humanity might reside.
Such a notion is patently absurd. The speaker is looking back about five centuries, castigating a man for not realizing that a place called the United States of America would provide a “fresh start for the human race.”
The line if “Columbus [had] known enough” demonstrates a level of ignorance that borders on the profane: In any endeavor, it is not necessarily the amount of knowing that is important; it is the nature of the knowledge. He is decrying Columbus for not being prescient, a seer, a clairvoyant.
To cover the fact that he is calling for Columbus to predict the future, the speaker positions the notion that the mariner could have used a “bluff” to suggest the future importance of his discovery. Such a notion remains petty and irresponsible and again shows more about the speaker/poet’s mind than it does the reality of history.
Sixth Stanza: A Youthful Misreading of Columbus
He might have fooled them in Madrid. I was deceived by what he did. If I had had my way when young I should have had Columbus sung As a god who had given us A more than Moses’ exodus
The speaker now inserts a phony self-deprecation. He admits that he once upon a time thought of Columbus as a hero, but now he recognizes that since Columbus was not able to predict the value of the New World he had discovered, then credit for his accomplishment of actually finding that New World should be withdrawn.
The speaker is attempting a bait and switch operation. By claiming that Columbus could have “fooled them in Madrid” the speaker is again referring to the “bluff” suggested in the preceding stanza.
But he then seems to be confessing to being deceived by the Columbus legend. The issue is not however that the speaker/poet was deceived; it is that now the speaker wishes to denigrate an Italian-American hero, and he is reaching beyond reality to form the basis for that derogatory image.
Seventh Stanza: Room and Doom
But all he did was spread the room Of our enacting out the doom Of being in each other’s way, And so put off the weary day When we would have to put our mind On how to crowd but still be kind.
The speaker now goes completely off the rails. Adding to Columbus’ inability to predict the future is the idea that even if he had bluffed his peers about the future of a New World, what he actually did was just give the world population more room to spread out and be mean.
Such a suggestion implies that if people had just remained in the Europe, Africa, and other reaches of the known world, they could have worked on learning to kind to one another as they continued to live in a “crowd.”
Again, such a suggestion is not only naïve, but it does not take into account that human nature remains the same whether humans are spread out or in a crowd. There is/was no such phenomenon that learning to be “kind” was postponed by the discovery of a New World. Did the folks who remained in Old World learn to be “kind”?
According to this line of thinking, they should have. But again the speaker has come up with a notion this is absurd, while exposing his real purpose of smearing 15th century explorer.
Eighth Stanza: Columbus’ Rewards
For these none too apparent gains He got no more than dungeon chains And such small posthumous renown (A country named for him, a town, A holiday) as where he is He may not recognize as his.
The speaker’s gross depiction of Columbus having been thrown in prison and receiving little attention crosses into the obscene. First, through instrumentality of the corrupt Francisco de Bobadilla, Columbus was sent back to Castile in “chains.”
But the Bobadilla’s abject lies about the explorer became immediately obvious, and Columbus was released and restored to his earlier prominence. And the claim of “small posthumous renown”—places named for him—is mind-numbing.
There are over 6000 places in the United States alone named after the explorer. Virtually every state in the USA has a town, city, park, or some landmark named after Christopher Columbus: some “small posthumous renown”!
Ninth Stanza: The Restless Ghost of Discovery
They say his flagship’s unlaid ghost Still probes and dents our rocky coast With animus approaching hate, And for not turning out a strait He has cursed every river mouth From fifty north to fifty south.
In this stanza, the speaker concocts sheer fantasy that would make today’s Columbus bashers proud. Every creative writer has the unleashed opportunity to foist onto historical figures their own proclivities.
The lame narrative in this stanza is immediately revealed with the vague “They say.” Who are they? How reliable are they? Well, “they” are the demons living in the imagination of the curmudgeon infested brain of the speaker/poet.
Tenth Stanza: Modern Discovery
Some day our navy I predict Will take in tow this derelict And lock him through Culebra Cut, His eyes as good (or bad) as shut To all the modern works of man And all we call American.
Here the speaker is not really predicting anything. He is merely setting up another pin to bowl down with his castigation of a fifteenth century man being unable to see into the future.
That Columbus could not image what the United States would look like in the 20th century is hardly an earthshaking discovery. But the speaker is no doubt self-congratulatory for implying that if Columbus has thought to sail through the Panama Canal he would have been on his way to discovering the real India.
Eleventh Stanza: Elusive America
America is hard to see. Less partial witnesses than he In book on book have testified They could not see it from outside — Or inside either for that matter. We know the literary chatter.
The speaker then takes a dramatic shift from beating up on Columbus to asserting the daft opinion that “America is hard to see.” Besides the flabby language, signifying less than nothing, it makes a brainless claim.
Because anything that extends for miles beyond human vision would be “hard to see,” one might as well say a railroad, New York, or the ocean— each is hard to see. But the speaker seems to be trying to say that America is not only a place but is also a political entity that continues in a mysterious vortex. Thus the “literary chatter” suggests that “America” cannot be expressed clearly in words.
Twelfth Stanza: Columbus’ View of America’s Advancement
Columbus, as I say, will miss All he owes to the artifice Of tractor-plow and motor-drill. To naught but his own force of will Or at most some Andean quake Will he ascribe this lucky break.
The speaker now makes a delusional claim that Columbus’ selfishness would blind him to the genuine causes of America’s development—that is, if the explorer were able to see America in its current iteration.
The speaker has no idea how Columbus would view the advances in the modern technological influence of “tractor-plow and motor-drill.” That he would impute such an attitude to the explorer is beyond damnable.
Thirteenth Stanza: A Speaker’s Obtuseness
High purpose makes the hero rude: He will not stop for gratitude. But let him show his haughty stern To what was never his concern Except as it denied him way To fortune-hunting in Cathay.
This stanza again is just another putrid display of a speaker whose own jealousy is out of control. Criticizing a historian figure through the lens of an contemporary set of scruples just does not work in a piece of discourse purporting to be a poem.
Fourteenth Stanza: The Futility of Defaming Hero
He will be starting pretty late. He’ll find that Asiatic state Is about tired of being looted While having its beliefs disputed. His can be no such easy raid As Cortez on the Aztecs made.
The final stanza serves as a monument to the failure of the speaker’s position so eloquently laid throughout this piece of drivel masquerading as a poem, for in this stanza the speaker is pretending to predict the future.
The future finds the explorer reaching Asia only to be rebuffed and rebuked because the Asias are tired being “looted” and “disrupted.” And lastly, Columbus will be humiliated that Cortez was so successful in conquering the Aztecs.
The sheer fantasy falls apart immediately because no such voyage was ever made by Christopher Columbus; therefore, he could not have been rebuffed and rebuked by people tired of being “looted” and “disrupted.”
In classical rhetoric such a concoction is called a straw man, fashioned solely for the purpose of burning it down. The speaker fancies an exploration that never existed simply to ridicule it for having failed. If an event is never begun, it cannot be considered to have failed, just as it cannot be deemed to have succeeded.
Robert Frost’s Worse Poem
Robert Frost’s “And All We Call American” is without a parallel; it is Frost’s absolute worst poem. The only quality that keeps this piece from being an contemptible piece of doggerel is the fact that it was composed one of the world’s most noted and beloved poets. Taking as his subject Christopher Columbus, Frost creates a speaker who reveals a deficiency of thought that seems remarkably reminiscent of adolescent self-absorption.
Instead of celebrating the remarkable discoveries of the great explorer, this speaker chooses to downplay achievement, offering in its place ignorant criticism that Columbus living in the fifteenth century was unable to know what would take place the 20th century.
When a fine, reputable poet throws out a stinker like this one, the only reason for studying such a piece is to understand the complex inconsistency of the human brain. If a student or novice poetry reader begins a study of Frost with this one, that individual has in store a shocking experience in discovering Frost’s later works such “The Road Not Taken,” “Birches,” “Bereft,” “The Gift Outright,” and “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”
Robert Frost’s “The Freedom of the Moon” muses on the nature of the free will possessed by humankind, as the moon’s freedom foreshadows the greater freedom of humankind.
Introduction and Text of “The Freedom of the Moon”
Robert Frost’s versanelle*, “The Freedom of the Moon,” consists of two sestets, each with the rime scheme, ABABCC. The poem dramatizes the phases of the moon and makes a statement about human freedom.
The speaker in Frost poem demonstrates the complete freedom of humanity by dramatizing the ability of the human mind to use its physical body paradoxically to relocate the moon’s positions. The freedom of the moon heralds the greater freedom of humankind.
*A versanelle isa short lyric, usually 20 lines or fewer, that comments on human nature or behavior, and may employ any of the usual poetic devices (I coined this term specifically for use in my poetry commentaries.
The Freedom of the Moon
I’ve tried the new moon tilted in the air Above a hazy tree-and-farmhouse cluster As you might try a jewel in your hair. I’ve tried it fine with little breadth of luster, Alone, or in one ornament combining With one first-water start almost shining.
I put it shining anywhere I please. By walking slowly on some evening later, I’ve pulled it from a crate of crooked trees, And brought it over glossy water, greater, And dropped it in, and seen the image wallow, The color run, all sorts of wonder follow.
Commentary on “The Freedom of the Moon”
The important possession of free will extends to metaphor making by poets.
First Sestet, First Tercet: Ways of Contemplating the Moon
I’ve tried the new moon tilted in the air Above a hazy tree-and-farmhouse cluster As you might try a jewel in your hair.
Beginning his list of ways he has contemplated the moon, the speaker first asserts that he has “tried the new moon tilted in the air.” At that phase, the orb was hanging over a little clump of trees alongside a farmhouse. He compares his consideration of the moon at that point to his lady companion’s trying a “jewel in [her] hair.”
The oddity about the speaker’s claim is that he says he considered the “new moon” which is barely visible. And the moon was tilted in the air. It seems more likely that a crescent phase of the moon would lend itself more accurately to being “tilted.”
An explanation for this claim is simply that the particular phase was new to the speaker; he had been ignoring the moon and when finally he was motivated to observe it, the newness of it prompts him to call it “the new moon.”
First Sestet, Second Tercet: Probing the Nature of the Moon’s Freedom
I’ve tried it fine with little breadth of luster, Alone, or in one ornament combining With one first-water start almost shining.
The speaker has furthermore probed the nature of the moon’s freedom when it was even in a thinner crescent phase; it was “fine with little breadth of luster.” He has mused on that phase when he saw it without stars and also when he has seen it with one star, a configuration from which the Islamic religion takes its icon.
The moon at that phase looked like the first burst of water when one turns on a spigot. It was not exactly shining but only “almost shining.” The speaker seems to marvel at the unheavenly ways in which the moon at times may assert its freedom.
Second Sestet, First Tercet: Freeing a Captured Orb
I put it shining anywhere I please. By walking slowly on some evening later, I’ve pulled it from a crate of crooked trees,
The speaker then proclaims that he has placed the moon “anywhere” he pleased, but that placement always occurred while it was bright, allowing him the vitality to work with it.
He then cleverly asserts his true theme that he is focusing on human freedom, not moon freedom, when he avers that he was able to place the moon anywhere he wanted because he was able to ambulate. His ability to walk allowed him the freedom to wander “slowly on some evening later.” He was thus able to “pull[ ] [the moon] from a crate of crooked trees.”
The trees seemed to be containing the moon as a wooden box would hold onions or melons. But the speaker was able to walk from the tree-contained moon thus metaphorically freeing the captured orb from the tree box.
Second Sestet, Second Tercet: Carrying the Orb to a Lake
And brought it over glossy water, greater, And dropped it in, and seen the image wallow, The color run, all sorts of wonder follow.
After removing the moon from the tree-crate by simply continuing his evening walk, the speaker metaphorically carried the orb to a lake, in which he metaphorically “dropped it in.” He then watched awestruck by the “wallow[ing]” image; he observed that like a piece of cloth losing its dye in water, the colors of the moon ran leaching out into the lake water.
The speaker then commits what is usually a grave poetic error; he makes an open ended statement without a hint of support, “all sorts of wonder follow.” But this speaker can get by with the ordinarily unforgivable poetic sin because of the great and wide implications that all of his lines heretofore have gathered.
The speaker, because he has given the moon freedom and has also shown that humankind is blessed with an even more profound freedom, has thus declared that all those “sorts of wonder” that “follow” from the possession of that free will and freedom of expression are indeed blessed with a golden freedom. He has revealed the unmistakeable and eternal free will of humankind.
Robert Frost’s “War Thoughts at Home” is a collection of seven stanzas, which sounds more like a list of notes than a poem, as the title clearly reveals. It seems likely that Frost did not consider “War Thoughts at Home” to be a finished, polished poem. Clearly, it is a list of “thoughts” as the title states.
Introduction and Text of “War Thoughts at Home”
Robert Frost’s “War Thoughts at Home” consists of seven “notes,” with the rime scheme ABCCB in each.
A Sow’s Ear, not a Silk Purse
This piece seems to be most aware of itself as trying to be poetic. It is for this reason that critics and scholars should understand that it is not a poem at all, but merely a list of thoughts. And, in fact, Frost did not publish this piece as a poem. This “list of thoughts” was found among his archival materials, jotted down on a flyleaf of his book, North of Boston.
As a poem, this list is seriously flawed. Robert Frost would probably be embarrassed that people are fawning over it as an important Frostian find, or he might also get a belly laugh at the vacuity of contemporary people of letters.
It is merely a list that seems to wax profound trying to compare a bird fight to the war in France. But it is obviously not meant to be a finished poem; likely Frost’s trickster nature had him put the notes in rime, just to throw people off. Frost’s best works demonstrate how much better than this he was as a poet.
War Thoughts at Home
On the back side of the house Where it wears no paint to the weather And so shows most its age, Suddenly blue jays rage And flash in blue feather.
It is late in an afternoon More grey with snow to fall Than white with fallen snow When it is blue jay and crow Or no bird at all.
So someone heeds from within This flurry of bird war, And rising from her chair A little bent over with care Not to scatter on the floor
The sewing in her lap Comes to the window to see. At sight of her dim face The birds all cease for a space And cling close in a tree.
And one says to the rest “We must just watch our chance And escape one by one— Though the fight is no more done Than the war is in France.”
Than the war is in France! She thinks of a winter camp Where soldiers for France are made. She draws down the window shade And it glows with an early lamp.
On that old side of the house The uneven sheds stretch back Shed behind shed in train Like cars that long have lain Dead on a side track.
Commentary on “War Thoughts at Home”
Robert Frost, no doubt, would laugh heartily at contemporary scholars for mistaking this list of notes for a poem.
First Note: Blue Birds Fighting
On the back side of the house Where it wears no paint to the weather And so shows most its age, Suddenly blue jays rage And flash in blue feather.
The speaker describes a house, noting that the s “back side” seems to take the brunt of the bad weather; as a result of all this tumultuous weather, the paint has worn off, and this side of the house shows its age more than the other sides.
It is on this weather-beaten side of the house that a bunch of blue jays starts to rustle about. The speaker colorfully claims that the jays are flashing their blue feathers as they tussle all in a rage.
Second Note: Bleak Atmosphere
It is late in an afternoon More grey with snow to fall Than white with fallen snow When it is blue jay and crow Or no bird at all.
The speaker continues to describe a bleak atmosphere. The time is late afternoon, and it looks as if it will be snowing soon; there is a gray (British spelling “grey”) look to the scene, a time when there may be present a blue jay or a crow or more likely still, “no bird at all.”
Third Note: Weather-Beaten Woman
So someone heeds from within This flurry of bird war, And rising from her chair A little bent over with care Not to scatter on the floor
The speaker introduces a woman inside the house who has heard the birds’ racket, and she goes to the window. She is old and as weather-beaten as the house, “A little bent over with care.” She has been sewing so she gets up from her chair carefully placing her sewing aside so she won’t drop it on the floor.
The term “bird war” is employed, and for the first time the list begins to reveal the nature of its claim to be thoughts of war. The reader might feel that the house has already demonstrated a kind of war with the weather; then the birds reveal of kind of war. And now enters a human being who will add the “war thoughts.”
Fourth Note: Repetition
The sewing in her lap Comes to the window to see. At sight of her dim face The birds all cease for a space And cling close in a tree.
The third and fourth stanzas are connected by sharing the same sentence. The woman comes to the window to see the birds, but the birds stop warring for a bit and remain huddled in a tree. The reader is to infer that they see this woman’s face staring at them and they cease their “war.”
Fifth Note: WW I Prattles on
And one says to the rest “We must just watch our chance And escape one by one— Though the fight is no more done Than the war is in France.”
Then one bird begins to speak, asserting that they must remain alert so they can escape a fight, similar to the “war in France.” Frost is said to have “inscribed a new poem” into a copy of his published North of Boston in 1918. Thus, the war is World War I.
The bird says that they can escape this human if they lay low and leave one at a time, but he admits that the fight is not over yet, just as the fight in France is not over yet; however, the war in Europe did end by September of 1918.
Sixth Note: Who Says What?
Than the war is in France! She thinks of a winter camp Where soldiers for France are made. She draws down the window shade And it glows with an early lamp.
In the sixth stanza, the speaker repeats the line, “Than the war is in France!” But it is unclear whose words these are. The bird said that same line, but now the same line appears unattributed. Then the speaker is telling the reader what the woman is thinking: she is thinking of an undisclosed place where soldiers train before being sent to France. She calls it a “winter camp.”
Again, it is not clear. Where is the winter camp? Is it in the United States, which only entered the war a year earlier? Is it in France? There is nothing to clarify why this woman would know these things. Perhaps the reader is to assume that she has a relative who was sent to this war, but the reader cannot determine so. Then the woman draws the shade, which “glows with an early lamp.”
Seventh Note: Out the Back Window
On that old side of the house The uneven sheds stretch back Shed behind shed in train Like cars that long have lain Dead on a side track.
The seventh stanza simply gives a description of what one would see if one were looking out back from “that old side of the house.” This sounds strange because in the opening stanza, it seemed that the weather had been responsible for making the house look old, but now the speaker actually calls that side “that old side of the house.”
One has to wonder how one side might be any older than the other sides. And what one sees there is a line of old sheds that give the appearance of railroad cars that have “lain / Dead on a side track” for a long time.
The speaker in “Two Tramps in Mud Time” dramatizes his encounter with two unemployed lumberjacks who covet the speaker’s wood-splitting task. He also features a philosophical take on the situation that leads him to continue chopping, instead of handing the job off to the two tramps.
Introduction and Text of “Two Tramps in Mud Time”
The speaker in Robert Frost’s “Two Tramps in Mud Time” fashions his dramatic performance, focusing on his brief meeting with two unemployed lumberjacks who seek to take over the speaker’s wood-splitting task. Calling them “tramps,” the speaker then provides a fascinating philosophical discussion about his reason for electing to keep on performing his chore, instead of letting these two needy individuals finish it for him.
It is likely that at times true altruism might come into play as a part of spiritual progress. And it also likely that the speaker would condescend to this idea. But the speaker may also have been annoyed that his “aim” at the wood was interrupted by the snide remark voiced by one of the mud tramps.
Two Tramps In Mud Time
Out of the mud two strangers came And caught me splitting wood in the yard, And one of them put me off my aim By hailing cheerily “Hit them hard!” I knew pretty well why he had dropped behind And let the other go on a way. I knew pretty well what he had in mind: He wanted to take my job for pay.
Good blocks of oak it was I split, As large around as the chopping block; And every piece I squarely hit Fell splinterless as a cloven rock. The blows that a life of self-control Spares to strike for the common good, That day, giving a loose my soul, I spent on the unimportant wood.v
The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day When the sun is out and the wind is still, You’re one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, A cloud comes over the sunlit arch, A wind comes off a frozen peak, And you’re two months back in the middle of March.
A bluebird comes tenderly up to alight And turns to the wind to unruffle a plume, His song so pitched as not to excite A single flower as yet to bloom. It is snowing a flake; and he half knew Winter was only playing possum. Except in color he isn’t blue, But he wouldn’t advise a thing to blossom.
The water for which we may have to look In summertime with a witching wand, In every wheelrut’s now a brook, In every print of a hoof a pond. Be glad of water, but don’t forget The lurking frost in the earth beneath That will steal forth after the sun is set And show on the water its crystal teeth.
The time when most I loved my task The two must make me love it more By coming with what they came to ask. You’d think I never had felt before The weight of an ax-head poised aloft, The grip of earth on outspread feet, The life of muscles rocking soft And smooth and moist in vernal heat.
Out of the wood two hulking tramps (From sleeping God knows where last night, But not long since in the lumber camps). They thought all chopping was theirs of right. Men of the woods and lumberjacks, They judged me by their appropriate tool. Except as a fellow handled an ax They had no way of knowing a fool.
Nothing on either side was said. They knew they had but to stay their stay And all their logic would fill my head: As that I had no right to play With what was another man’s work for gain. My right might be love but theirs was need. And where the two exist in twain Theirs was the better right–agreed.
But yield who will to their separation, My object in living is to unite My avocation and my vocation As my two eyes make one in sight. Only where love and need are one, And the work is play for mortal stakes, Is the deed ever really done For Heaven and the future’s sakes.
Robert Frost Reading “Two Tramps in Mud Time”
Commentary on “Two Tramps in Mud Time”
The speaker in “Two Tramps in Mud Time” is dramatizing his encounter with two unemployed lumberjacks who would like to relieve the speaker of his wood-splitting task. He offers an interesting take on why he chooses to continue his chore, instead of turning it over to these two needy individuals.
First Stanza: Accosted by Two Strangers
Out of the mud two strangers came And caught me splitting wood in the yard, And one of them put me off my aim By hailing cheerily “Hit them hard!” I knew pretty well why he had dropped behind And let the other go on a way. I knew pretty well what he had in mind: He wanted to take my job for pay.
The speaker in “Two Tramps in Mud Time” is busy cutting logs of oak; he is suddenly accosted by a couple of strangers who seem to appear out from the muddy ground. One of the strangers calls out to the speaker telling him to hit the oak logs hard.
The man who called out had lagged behind his companion, and the speaker of the poem believes he does so in order to attempt to take the speaker’s work. Paying jobs are lacking in this period of American history, and men had to do all they could to get a day’s wage.
The speaker complains that the sudden call out from the tramp has disturbed his “aim” likely making him miss the split he had planned to make of the log. The speaker is not happy about the intrusion into his private activity.
Second Stanza: The Ability to Split Wood
Good blocks of oak it was I split, As large around as the chopping block; And every piece I squarely hit Fell splinterless as a cloven rock. The blows that a life of self-control Spares to strike for the common good, That day, giving a loose my soul, I spent on the unimportant wood.
The speaker counters the criticism of the tramp by detailing his own proven ability to split wood. He describes every piece he cut as “splinter less as a cloven rock.” The speaker then begins to muse in a philosophical manner.
Although a well-disciplined individual might think that philanthropy is always in order, today this speaker decides to continue cutting his own wood, despite the fact that the tramp/strangers desperately need cash and could well use what they would earn by cutting the wood.
The speaker, who normally might be amenable to allowing the two unemployed men to take on the wood-splitting for some pay, is now put off by the remark and continues to concoct reasons for continuing the work himself.
Third Stanza: Musing on the Weather
The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day When the sun is out and the wind is still, You’re one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, A cloud comes over the sunlit arch, A wind comes off a frozen peak, And you’re two months back in the middle of March.v
In the third stanza, the speaker muses over the weather. It is a nice warm day even though there is a chilly wind. It’s that Eliotic “cruelest month” of April, when sometimes the weather may seem like the middle of May and then suddenly it’s like the middle of March again.
The speaker seems to reason that he had no time to turn over the job because by the time he explained what he wanted done and how much he was willing to pay them, the weather might take a turn for the worse and then the job would have to be abandoned.
Fourth Stanza: Weather Still On Edge
A bluebird comes tenderly up to alight And turns to the wind to unruffle a plume, His song so pitched as not to excite A single flower as yet to bloom. It is snowing a flake; and he half knew Winter was only playing possum. Except in color he isn’t blue, But he wouldn’t advise a thing to blossom.
Then the speaker dramatizes the actions and the possible thoughts of a bluebird who ” . . . comes tenderly up to alight / And turns to the wind to unruffle a plume.” The bird sings his song but is not enthusiastic yet, because there are still no flowers blooming.
A snowflake appears, and the speaker and the bird realize that, “[w]inter was only playing possum.” The bird is happy enough, but he would not encourage the flowers to bloom yet, because he knows there is still a good chance of frost. Beauties of nature are always contrasted with ugliness, warm with cold, light with dark, soft with sharp.
Fifth Stanza: The Philosophy of Weather and The Pairs of Opposites
The water for which we may have to look In summertime with a witching wand, In every wheelrut’s now a brook, In every print of a hoof a pond. Be glad of water, but don’t forget The lurking frost in the earth beneath That will steal forth after the sun is set And show on the water its crystal teeth.
Water is plentiful in mid-spring, whereas in summer they have to look for it “with a witching wand.” But now it makes a “brook” of “every wheelrut[ ],” and “every print of a hoof” is “a pond.”
The speaker offers the advice to be appreciative of the water but admonishes his listeners not to dismiss the notion that frost could still be just beneath the surface and could in a trice spill forth showing “its crystal teeth.”
The speaker seems to be in a Zen-mood, demonstrating the pairs of opposites that continue to saddle humankind with every possible dilemma. His philosophical musing has turned up the perennial truth that every good thing has its opposite on this earth.
Sixth Stanza: Back to the Tramps
The time when most I loved my task The two must make me love it more By coming with what they came to ask. You’d think I never had felt before The weight of an ax-head poised aloft, The grip of earth on outspread feet, The life of muscles rocking soft And smooth and moist in vernal heat.
In the sixth stanza, the speaker returns to the issue of the tramps. The speaker loves splitting the oak logs, but when the two tramps come along covertly trying to usurp his beloved task, that “make[s him] love it more.” It makes the speaker feel that he had never done this work before, he is so loathe to give it up.
Likely, the speaker resents deeply that these two would be so brazen as to try to interrupt his work, much less try to usurp it. The speaker is doing this work not only because he will need to wood to heat his house but also because he enjoys it. That anyone would consider relieving him of performing a task he loves makes him realize more intensely that he does, in fact, love the chore.
Seventh Stanza: Likely Lazy Bums
Out of the wood two hulking tramps (From sleeping God knows where last night, But not long since in the lumber camps). They thought all chopping was theirs of right. Men of the woods and lumberjacks, They judged me by their appropriate tool. Except as a fellow handled an ax They had no way of knowing a fool.
The speaker knows that these two tramps are likely just lazy bums, even though they had earlier been lumberjacks working at the lumber camps nearby. He knows that they have sized him up and decided they deserved to be performing his beloved task.
That the speaker refers to these men as “tramps” shows that he has little, if any, respect for them. The fact that they might have been lumberjacks does not give them the right to judge the speaker and his ability to split wood.
That they thought chopping wood was only their purview further infuriates the speaker. He suspects they think he is just some fool noodling around with tools only they could wield properly.
Eighth Stanza: Who Really Has the Better Claim?
Nothing on either side was said. They knew they had but to stay their stay And all their logic would fill my head: As that I had no right to play With what was another man’s work for gain. My right might be love but theirs was need. And where the two exist in twain Theirs was the better right—agreed.
The speaker and the tramps did not converse. The speaker claims that the tramps knew they did not have to say anything. They assumed it would be obvious to the speaker they deserved to be splitting the wood.
They would split wood because they needed the money, but the speaker is splitting the wood for the love of it. It did not matter that the tramps had “agreed” that they had a better claim.
The speaker suggests that even if they had the better claim on the job, he could think his way out of this conundrum in order to continue working his wood himself. He did not owe them anything, despite their superior notions about themselves, their ability, and their present needs.
Ninth Stanza: Uniting Love and Need
But yield who will to their separation, My object in living is to unite My avocation and my vocation As my two eyes make one in sight. Only where love and need are one, And the work is play for mortal stakes, Is the deed ever really done For Heaven and the future’s sakes.
The speaker philosophically reasons that he has the better claim to his wood-splitting and is, in fact, more deserving of his labor then the mud tramps. His task is more than just wood-splitting. He is striving in his life to unite the two aspects of human existence: the physical and spiritual. He has determined to bring together his “avocation” and his “vocation.”
The speaker is convinced that only when a human can unite into a spiritual whole his need with his love can the job truly be said to have been accomplished. The two tramps do not understand this philosophical concept; they want only money.
The speaker is actively striving to unite his love and his need together into that significant, spiritual whole. Maybe sometime in future the two mud tramps too will learn this valuable lesson of conjoining love and need. But for now they just need to scoot along and leave the speaker to his chores.
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