Linda's Literary Home

Tag: poetry

  • Emily Dickinson’s “Baffled for just a day or two”

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

    Emily Dickinson’s “Baffled for just a day or two”

    This poem, “Baffled for just a day or two,” is one of Emily Dickinson’s most puzzling riddles, and like many of her poems, it begs multiple level interpretations from a flower in her garden to the eruption in a garden mind of a new type of poem.

    Introduction and Text of “Baffled for just a day or two”

    Depending on who is being described as “baffled” and “embarrassed,” the poem reveals a chance “encounter” with some unexpected, but likely not completely unknown entity.  Because the location is the speaker’s “garden,” a flower may be presumed.  

    But if “garden” refers to the mythological garden of the poet’s poetry, as mentioned in the poem, “There is another sky,” in which the speaker invites her brother, “Prithee, my brother, / Into my garden come!,” the strange, “unexpected Maid,” may turn out to be a poem.

    Baffled for just a day or two

    Baffled for just a day or two –
    Embarrassed – not afraid –
    Encounter in my garden
    An unexpected Maid.

    She beckons, and the woods start –
    She nods, and all begin –
    Surely, such a country
    I was never in!

    Commentary on “Baffled for just a day or two”

    Emily Dickinson’s metaphysical garden includes many varieties of flowering poems, even those that might have startled her upon first appearance.

    First Stanza:  Some Stranger in Her Garden Has Appeared

    Baffled for just a day or two –
    Embarrassed – not afraid –
    Encounter in my garden
    An unexpected Maid.

    The speaker begins with an odd remark, indicating that someone or some entity was confused and perhaps struggling to emerge, as a flower pushing itself up through the soil might do.  The entity remained in the situation for only a couple of days.  Because of its struggle, which likely looked awkward, it was “embarrassed,” but it struggled on without fear.

    This event happened in the speaker’s garden, where she “encounter[ed]” “an unexpected Maid.”  The speaker never reveals explicitly who or what this “Maid” is.  She leaves it up to the reader to take as much from her riddle/poem as possible.  And it is likely that she thinks of this poem as so deeply personal that she will remain blissfully unconcerned even if no one ever grasps her exact reference.

    Second Stanza:  From Some Hitherto Unvisited Metaphysical Plane

    She beckons, and the woods start –
    She nods, and all begin –
    Surely, such a country
    I was never in!

    This important “Maid,” who has made her appearance, then gestures enticingly, and that coaxing invitation causes the “woods” to begin moving toward her.  The “Maid” then “nods” and things begin to happen.  What begins to happen, the speaker is not divulging.

    The speaker then asserts another odd remark, saying that she “was never” in “such a country.”  That claim baffles the reader, for surely the speaker cannot be saying she was never in her garden, whether it refers to her literal, physical garden or to her figurative, metaphysical garden.

    But ah, knowing Dickinson, how mystically inclined her mind worked, her speaker could, in fact, be exaggerating because after the flower appeared, its beauty was beyond the gardener-speaker’s expectations.

    Or if the “Maid” is a poem, the speaker is revealing that the poem was so new, fresh, and profound that she feels she has never before encountered such a piece, and therefore it must come from a “country” or place in her mind/soul in which she, up to this point, has never visited.

    The poem works well on either the physical (Maid as flower) or the metaphysical (Maid as poem), as all great poetry does.  And while a reader might choose to accept the physical, readers who choose the metaphysical are likely to become more in tune with the Dickinsonian way of thinking.

    The Dickinson Mind

    Emily Dickinson was a poetic genius, as her reputation clearly affirms.  Her poems have delighted audiences since her works became widely disseminated.  Her poems reveal a mind that paid close attention to details.  The details that surrounded her in her home and the details of nature outside her home which she had the privilege of observing became her material for creating her little poetic dramas.


    However, the Dickinson mind was not content to merely describe the minutia of everyday life or even of living a New England life.  Emily Dickinson grasped early on that the world was filled with meaning.  The life she was living and the lives which all of her contemporaries were living sustained a meaning that only suggested itself to the individuals.

    But for Dickinson that suggestion remained a guiding force, urging her to know all she could know.  Her mind was a hungry, fierce animal that stalked it prey with a vengeance; it prey was that suggestion of meaning that resided in every created thing.

    God has created an untold number of things, and each and every one of those things holds untold levels of meaning.  Interestingly, it seems that only God’s things known as human beings are capable of wondering about the meaning of things, the meaning of life, the meaning of living a proper life.

    Also interesting, it also seems that only a new of those human beings have noticed that all God’s creation contains things with meaning.  Most individuals grasp the fact that things are useful, and in employing hat usefulness, reason and wonder often take a backseat.  People seem to leave the thinking of profound subjects for simply getting through another day with enough shelter, food, and raiment to sustain life.

    Emily Dickinson was of the few who take life so seriously that they contemplate, gather the fruits of their contemplations, and then create little dramas out of them.  Her life-long amazement that existence existed motivated her to continue creating her little garden and her world that thrived under “another sky.”

    The Dickinsonian mind is itself a thing of wonder.  Her depth of peering into something so simple as a flower remains a curiosity.  Her poems are testimonies to the amazing quality of her thinking.  While her depth and force may be especially extraordinary, they, nevertheless, are part and parcel of every human mind.

    All human minds possess the same capabilities that the Dickinsonian mind possessed.  The only difference is in their execution.  Dickinson gave in to urge to know everything she could about everything she encountered.  Any limiting factors standing in the way of her progress became mountains that she gladly climbed, and at the top of each mount, she sat gleefully composing the details of her journey upward.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “I would distal a cup”

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

    Emily Dickinson’s “I would distal a cup”

    Emily Dickinson’s “I would distal a cup” mimics a toast to a departing friend.  It appears in a letter to newspaper editor Samuel Bowles, a family friend.

    Introduction and Text of “I would distil a cup”

    The text of Emily Dickinson’s “I would distal a cup” in prose form appears in a letter to Samuel Bowles, editor of the Springfield Republican, the most influential newspaper in New England around 1858.  The letter begins with the writer thanking Mr. Bowles for sending her a pamphlet.  She expresses uncertainly that he is the actual sender but thanks him in case he is.

    The rest of the letter finds the writer communicating her famous claim that her friends are her “estate,” and celebrating the notion that friendship enlivens her, keeping her on her toes.  The letter bears the date August 1858 and she remarks that the workers are gathering the “second Hay.”  

    Thus the summer season is winding down.  It is at this point in the letter that she states, “I would distil a cup, and bear to all my friends, drinking to her no more astir, by beck, or burn, or moor!”

    Apparently, Dickinson thought enough of this sentence to include it as a full-fledged poem in one of the many  fascicles that Thomas H. Johnson later edited for publication in his The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, the groundbreaking work that restored Dickinson’s poems to their original forms.  

    In the letter, Dickinson’s sentence-turned-poem seems to jump up out the verbiage as a toast at a gala dinner party, wherein one would rise, raise a cup, and offer the toast to one being recognized.

    I would distil a cup

    I would distil a cup,
    And bear to all my friends,
    Drinking to her no more astir,
    By beck, or burn, or moor!

    Commentary on “I would distal a cup”

    In a letter to Samuel Bowels, Emily Dickinson puts on display her colorful, chatty conversational ability, including this original prose-statement, which later became a finished poem.

    First Movement:  Creating, Rising, and Offering

    I would distil a cup,
    And bear to all my friends,

    The speaker, as if rising to offer a toast at some gathering of friends, imparts that she wishes to offer a toast “to all [her] friends.”  The drink is likely a fine whiskey; thus the speaker conflated the manufacture of the drink with her lifting the cup.  

    She makes herself more important to the creation of the drink than she, or anyone offering a toast, would deserve.  But the exaggeration simply implies her devotion to her friends, who are by the way, her “estate.”  Not only is she offering a toast, but she is also creating the drink in order to offer it.

    Then after the speaker had created this distilled beverage, she lifts her cup and bears its contents to all of her friends.  At the point that poem appears in her letter to Bowles, she had made it clear that she can make chatty conversation.  

    She has claimed that she wishes to be forgiven for hoarding her friends.  She has surmised that those who were once poor have a very different view of gold than those who have never suffered poverty.

    The letter writer even invokes God, saying He does not worry so much as we or else he would “give us no friends, lest we forget him.”  Playing on the expression, “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” she compares what one might anticipate in “Heaven” as opposed to what one experiences on earth and finds the latter more appealing.

    However, the speaker then abruptly tells Bowles that, “Summer stopped since you were here,” after which she mourns the loss of summer with several acerbic witticisms.  She offers Bowles some paraphrases from her “Pastor,” who has dismissed humanity as nothing but a “Worm.”  

    Then she poses the question to Bowles:  “Do you think we shall ‘see God’?”  This abrupt inquiry likely startled Bowles, which is no doubt the writer’s purpose.  But then she moves on to the image of “Abraham” “strolling” with God “in genial promenade,” seemingly answering her own startling question.

    Second Movement:  As Summer Abandons the Streams and Meadows

    Drinking to her no more astir,
    By beck, or burn, or moor!

    After having distilled the fine liquor, poured it into her cup, she lifts it and offers her toast to the one who is in the process of departing—her beloved summer.  The summer season is no longer “astir” in the streams or on the meadows.  

    She employs the colorful terms “beck” and “burn” (bourne) to refer to streams of water.  And then she refers to fields, heaths, or meadows as “moor,” likely also for its colorful, exotic texture.

    Immediately after the toasting sentence in the letter, the letter writer abruptly bids Mr. Bowles, “Good night,” but she still has more to say and proceeds to say it.  She then claims that “this is what they say who come back in the morning.”  

    She seems to be identifying with summer who is saying good-bye but only to return “in the morning.”  But her certainty that “Confidence in Daybreak modifiers Dusk,” allows her to accept the pair of opposites that continually blight her world.

    The speaker has difficulty even saying good-night or good-bye to a friend once she has opened the conversation. But she knows she must wind down, just a summer has done; thus she wishes blessings for Bowles’ wife and children, even going to far as to send kisses for lips of the little ones.  

    She then tells Bowles that she and the rest of the Dickinson family remain eager to visit with him again.  And she will dispense with “familiar truths,” for his sake.

    Emily Dickinson and at the Exotic

    Emily Dickinson’s penchant for exoticisms likely enamored her of some of the more cryptic expressions placed in her letters.  That penchant allowed her be so cheeky as to select certain expressions and later present them in a fascicle as a poem.  

    It also explains her employment of terms for ordinary nouns such a field, river, creek, or meadow.  She kept her dictionary handy and made abundant use of it. Luckily, her intuitive perception and ability with language kept her from suffering the clownish terminology often detected by users of a thesaurus.

    Image b: Samuel Bowles – Emily Dickinson Museum

  • Emily Dickinson’s “Sleep is supposed to be”

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

    Emily Dickinson’s “Sleep is supposed to be”

    Dickinson’s “Sleep is supposed to be” redefines two common terms employed daily but, to the speaker’s mind, remain misidentified.

    Introduction with Text of  “Sleep is supposed to be”

    While the speaker in “The morns are meeker than they were” offers a playful riddle in order to elaborate on the beauty of the fall season, the speaker of “Sleep is supposed to be” has a very different purpose; this speaker disputes the common conception of “sleep” and “morning.”  

    The speaker then offers the common notion about what sleep and morning are understood to be and contrasts it with a different level of awakening.  She is referring to the spiritual awakening, when the soul and the Oversoul become one.   Dickinson often describes those states of awareness that transcend the physical level of existence.

    Sleep is supposed to be

    Sleep is supposed to be
    By souls of sanity
    The shutting of the eye.

    Sleep is the station grand
    Down which, on either hand
    The hosts of witness stand!

    Morn is supposed to be
    By people of degree
    The breaking of the day.

    Morning has not occurred!

    That shall Aurora be –
    East of Eternity –
    One with the banner gay –
    One in the red array –
    That is the break of Day.

    Reading of “Sleep is supposed to be”   

    Commentary on “Sleep is supposed to be”

    The speaker wants to redefine a term that by her reasoning has been mischaracterized.

    First Stanza:  Normal Sleep

    Sleep is supposed to be
    By souls of sanity
    The shutting of the eye.

    The speaker begins by stating that normally folks think of sleep as the act when people shut their eyes.    Those normal people are just everyday folk who go about their day waking, eating, working, playing, procreating, and of course shutting their eyes to sleep, before the next day finds them doing those ordinary things again.  

    Those individuals are the “sane” souls because they all agree on the common definition of “sleep.”  For them there is no other definition of “sleep”; thus the speaker must now enlighten them.  

    Second Stanza:  Opening Up a Mystic Paradise

    Sleep is the station grand
    Down which, on either hand
    The hosts of witness stand!

    After asserting that the normal, sane folks of the world have defined “sleep” a certain way, the speaker must now insert a new definition into the lexicon of society’s manners and language.   Instead of being merely a “shutting of the eye,” this speaker has discovered that sleep also allows a new world to emerge—one that is “grand.”  

    This world is a mystic paradise, where the angels appear everywhere.  They appear as “hosts” who give witness that this seemingly unusual realm exists.  The speaker has thus elevated the common activity in which all creatures worldwide engage to a metaphysical activity that she can be sure very few have experienced.

    The speaker therefore likely knows that what she is reporting will be understood by very few folks, but by dramatizing it in a poem she may reach some on some intuitive level. And even if they think she is merely describing dreams, well, that is better than continuing to devalue sleep as merely “shutting of the eye.”

    Third Stanza:  Considering Morning

    Morn is supposed to be
    By people of degree
    The breaking of the day.

    The speaker now moves on to the second term which she is urged to redefine for humanity—”Morn” or morning.  As with “sleep,” she tells her readers/listeners what people who deem themselves knowledgeable consider “morn” to be.   Those illustrious but limited folks consider morning to be merely the time that day begins, that time between the “shutting of the eye” and the “breaking of the day .”

    Fourth Stanza:  Morning Every Morning

    Morning has not occurred!

    The speaker then startles her readers/listeners by boldly asserting with emphasis, placing her announcement in one line, in order to draw maximum attention to its content.  

    This speaker insists that, in fact, there has been no “Morning” yet.  Despite the thinking of those smart people that morning is simply the time that day breaks, she courageously declares that “Morning has not occurred!”  Such a startling statement throws open all the windows of the mind.  What could the speaker be thinking?  After all morning occurs every morning, does it not?

    Fifth Stanza:   The True Morning

    That shall Aurora be –
    East of Eternity –
    One with the banner gay –
    One in the red array –
    That is the break of Day.

    The speaker then describes what a true “Morning” is.  A true morning is the time that the souls greets their Maker.  A great light appears that spreads from the forehead (“East”) out into that Heaven beyond the physical cosmos.  

    That union of soul and Oversoul is a time that is marked by a brilliant flag, marked by spreading of the brightest light beyond all physical light and sight.

    The speaker then concludes:  “That is the break of Day.” (Or “That is the break of Day.”) She emphasizes her description by emphasizing the word, “That.”  Modern-day type-script uses italics; Dickinson underlined the word, as is necessary without modern-day technological advances with the use of word processing.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “I never told the buried gold”

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

    Emily Dickinson’s “I never told the buried gold”

    In Emily Dickinson’s “I never told the buried gold,”  the speaker has made an amazing discovery; she then creates a little drama in which she muses on whether to reveal that discovery. 

    Introduction with Text of “I never told the buried gold”

    The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “I never told the buried gold” seems to be sharing a secret, but it is a secret so bizarre that she must couch it deeply in mystery.  

    She has realized a possession that is buried so deep in her psyche that she must dramatize it by creating a parable-like discourse, and she yet remains so ambivalent about revealing it that she seems to continue to waver as her drama unfolds.

    I never told the buried gold

    I never told the buried gold
    Upon the hill – that lies –
    I saw the sun – his plunder done
    Crouch low to guard his prize.

    He stood as near
    As stood you here –
    A pace had been between –
    Did but a snake bisect the brake
    My life had forfeit been.

    That was a wondrous booty –
    I hope ’twas honest gained.
    Those were the fairest ingots
    That ever kissed the spade!

    Whether to keep the secret –
    Whether to reveal –
    Whether as I ponder
    Kidd will sudden sail –

    Could a shrewd advise me
    We might e’en divide –
    Should a shrewd betray me –
    Atropos decide! 

    Commentary on “I never told the buried gold”

    The speaker is dramatizing her process of decision-making involving a recent discovery.

    First Stanza:  Revealing a Secret

    I never told the buried gold
    Upon the hill – that lies –
    I saw the sun – his plunder done
    Crouch low to guard his prize.

    The speaker begins by reporting that she has never told anyone about this treasure that she possesses.  Then immediately she begins to liken it to the valuable metal, “gold.”  She places that gold upon a hill where the sun is guarding it.  This gold belongs to the sun in the same way that her possession belongs to her.

    The sun seems to “plunder” as it moves about in its shining rays over the landscape, and it then stoops over the hill where the gold is buried; in stealth, the sun watches over its treasure.  The speaker has observed this odd behavior of the heavenly orb.  

    Thus, she likens her own guarding of her  “prize” to that of the sun guarding the gold.    The speaker intends to guard her prize because of its unusual nature, but the sun will continue to keep its prize safe out of sheer natural necessity.

    Second Stanza:  The Shock of Recognition

    He stood as near
    As stood you here –
    A pace had been between –
    Did but a snake bisect the brake
    My life had forfeit been.

    The speaker now has the sun standing near her, as near as the imaginary audience she is addressing.  There is, however, “a pace” between them.  

    And then a snake slithers through the thicket, dividing the foliage as it is wont to do.  (This image is reminiscent of the line, “The Grass divides as with a Comb,” in Dickinson’s riddle poem, “A narrow Fellow in the Grass.”)

    The speaker then makes the odd claim that her life had been forfeited, suggesting that for an instant she likely gave out a gasp of fear before regaining her equilibrium enough to continue living, thinking, and creating her drama.  The snake supplies the impetus for the notion of life forfeiting.

    While the speaker suddenly experiences the epiphany that she was in possession of this magnificent, golden gift, she also experiences a shock that unsettled her for at least a brief moment.

    Third Stanza:  Desire to be Worthy 

    That was a wondrous booty –
    I hope ’twas honest gained.
    Those were the fairest ingots
    That ever kissed the spade!

    The speaker now admits that what she has realized about herself is tantamount to coming into the possession of large storehouse of amazing gifts or treasure.  She calls her treasure “wondrous booty,” and then she indicates that she hopes she has earned this amazing treasure-trove, and not merely stolen it or been given it willy-nilly, or inexplicably.

    The speaker then sizes up the value of this mysterious possession, by continuing the “gold” metaphor.  Now calling her possession “ingots,” she estimates their value as the “fairest” “that ever kissed the spade.”  

    Of course, ingots must be dug out of the ground, and when they are found by the excavating shovel, those ingots meet the metal of the “spade” with resounding touch, which the speaker calls a “kiss.”

    Fourth Stanza:  Whether to Reveal the Secret

    Whether to keep the secret –
    Whether to reveal –
    Whether as I ponder
    Kidd will sudden sail –

    Again, the speaker becomes ambivalent about revealing this amazing “secret.”  She lists her toggling of the mind that cannot decide if she should keep hidden this new knowledge or whether she ought to announce it.

    As the speaker muses on the issue—whether to tell or not, she reckons that Captain Kidd might just be sailing to retrieve his own booty of treasure, which by legend he had buried in the Caribbean.

    This clever employment of “Kidd” and the allusion that it implies deepens the “gold” and treasure metaphor, continuing the revelation of the value the speaker has placed on this mysterious treasure of which she has become aware.

    Fifth Stanza:  Leaving the Mystery to Eternity

    Could a shrewd advise me
    We might e’en divide –
    Should a shrewd betray me –
    Atropos decide! 

    The speaker then makes a hilarious admission.  If someone who is smart enough to know whether she should reveal her treasure should let her know what is appropriate, she would be willing to give that person part of her treasure.  

    But she does not know if there is such a knowledgeable person who is trustworthy.  If she reveals her secret to the wrong “shrewd,” she might live to regret it.  She could be ridiculed and left to suffer much betrayal.

    By calling her potential advisor a “shrewd,” the speaker is making fun of such individuals whom she thinks might believe they are, in fact, capable of advising her.  But because she allows that a “shrewd” could likely betray her confidence, she remains ambivalent about seeking their advice.

    Instead of making a definite decision about whether to seek counsel from one of those shrewds, the speaker decides not to decide.  She will leave the decision to “Atropos,” one of the Greek Fates, who is responsible for deciding the exact time for the end of each human life.  Atropos held the scissors that cut the thread of life.

    The  speaker thus decides to leave her decision to the ultimate decision-maker, one whose decision is not only final but made without equivocation.   The speaker will remain in humble possession of her knowledge that she owns a mystic, creative soul that will from now on guide her in her creation of little dramas on her pathway through life.  

    Without having revealed her secret to the wide, gaping yet eyeless majority of the world, the speaker has revealed her secret only to those who will understand. It is in that respect that the speaker’s poem is like a parable of Lord Jesus the Christ, who spoke through that form only to those who had ears to hear.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “My wheel is in the dark!”

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

    Emily Dickinson’s “My wheel is in the dark!”

    The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “My wheel is in the dark!” is making a statement about knowing without sense perception.  This subject especially interested the poet, who was specifically concerned with issues such as immortality and life after death.

    Introduction and Text of “My wheel is in the dark!”

    Despite the grammatical error in the last line of Emily Dickinson’s “My wheel is in the dark!,” the speaker’s revelation shines through clearly and offers a unique perspective about the nature of understanding and explaining the ineffable.

    My wheel is in the dark!

    My wheel is in the dark!
    I cannot see a spoke
    Yet know its dripping feet
    Go round and round.

    My foot in on the Tide!
    An unfrequented road –
    Yet have all roads
    A clearing in the end –

    Some have resigned the Loom –
    Some in the busy tomb
    Find a quaint employ –

    Some with new – stately feet –
    Pass royal through the gate –
    Flinging the problem back
    At you and I!

    Commentary on “My wheel is in the dark!”

    Rendering information about the ineffable level of being is virtually impossible, but through use of poetic devices and other literary language that rendering becomes somewhat meaningful and therefore understandable to the mind and heart.

    First Stanza:  Vision by Implication

    My wheel is in the dark!
    I cannot see a spoke
    Yet know its dripping feet
    Go round and round.

    The speaker reports that she is capable of knowing that the spoke on a wheel moves in a circular motion as it drips water even though there is no light on the wheel.  She is revealing that she, as all human beings are, is able to infer information without direct sense perception that might otherwise reveal such knowledge.

    Human beings prefer to rely on what they can “see” or “hear.”  But sometimes seeing and hearing are not possible.  For example, human beings are convinced that love and hate both exist, even though they cannot see the concepts to which those nouns refer. 

    The ultimate argument ensues from the issue of whether God exists.  Some will argue that because he cannot “see” God, then God must not exist.  The argument runs further as the atheist insists that he also cannot hear, feel, taste, or touch God—and what cannot be experienced through the senses, therefore, does not exist.

    The speaker in “My wheel is in the dark!” thus counters such an argument by demonstrating that not only is metaphysical knowledge based on intuition and inference but also simple knowledge about things like wet wheels that go round and round in the dark.

    Second Stanza:  An Uncharted Path

    My foot in on the Tide!
    An unfrequented road –
    Yet have all roads
    A clearing in the end –

    The speaker continues with her comparison stating that she is walking an uncharted path, but she knows, again by intuition and inference, that this road will eventually lead to “a clearing.”  

    Despite the danger, such as would be experienced by having one’s foot “on the Tide,” the speaker can, with fairly great certainty, be assured that all the danger and complexity of the road she walks will end, and all will be understandable when she moves into that landscape which features clarity.

    The speaker places that clarity at the end, which is at the end of her life, a time at which she will come to the end of the path and enter the “clearing.”  Her “unfrequented road” is unique as is each road each soul must frequent as it passes through life on the physical level of being.

    Third Stanza t:  Resigning the Loom

    Some have resigned the Loom –
    Some in the busy tomb
    Find a quaint employ –

    The speaker now reports that others have departed from this world.  She indicates that departure by referring to their occupation while alive.  She colorfully claims that some of the folks who have died simply “resigned the Loom.” 

    But she does not offer a catalogue or list of what resigners have resigned.  By mentioning one earthly occupation only, she implies that that “Loom” not only refers to the occupation of weaving but also to the fabric that exists as life itself.

    Thus those “some” that have “resigned” from the fabric of life find a different way to engage their time and effort “in the busy tomb”; she claims that they “find a quaint employ.” 

    The speaker is reporting from her intuition that after death the soul will continue its engagements, even though its engagements after leaving the physical encasement will be different.  They nevertheless will be “quaint,” an obviously optimistic claim.

    Fourth Stanza:  Remaining Mum about the Afterlife

    Some with new – stately feet –
    Pass royal through the gate –
    Flinging the problem back
    At you and I!

    Those souls who will remain busy with quaint engagements, however, are not the only class of souls that the speaker intuits.  In addition to those who engage in the those quaint pursuits, there are those who will become similar to royalty.  They will possess “stately feet” and enter the kingdom of heaven on those stately feet.

    The speaker then returns to the world but without any definitive answer about what the real differences are between life and afterlife.  When those of the royal, stately feet pass through that gate into paradise, they will not reveal their new experiences; they will simply be “flinging the problem” into the faces of those left watching for wheels “in the dark” and walking “on the Tide.”  

    Only those who have actually passed through that heavenly gate will understand what that experience offers.  Thus we–”you and I”–will continue to speculate about that experience, as the speaker has done in this poem and the many more that are to come.

    Dickinson and Grammar

    As Dickinson’s readers discover, the poet often misspelled words and left her grammatical constructions a little cockeyed.  Thomas H. Johnson, the editor of The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, who restored her poems to their near originals, has revealed that he did correct some misspellings. 

    And it remains unclear why he left the inaccurate grammatical construction, “At you and I!”; the correct pronoun form in that prepositional phrase is “me” instead of “I”—the objective case is required after a preposition.  

    A reason for leaving such an error could be to complete a rime scheme, but that is not the case with this line.  As a matter of fact, by inserting “me” instead of “I,” a partial rime would be achieved: “feet” would become a partial rime with “me.”    Nevertheless, this problem remains a slight one. No meaning is lost despite the grammatical error.   Such errors may interfere with the total enjoyment of a poem.

    However, readers need not become alarmed about them unless they interfere with understanding. Luckily, this error does not confound meaning, and comprehension of the poem remains clear and unobstructed, despite the slight distraction that inaccurate pronoun inflicts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Through lane it lay – through bramble

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

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

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

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

    Commentary on “Through lane it lay – through bramble”

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

    First Stanza:  Another Jaunty Riddle

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

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

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

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

    Second Stanza:  The Fantastic Journey

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

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

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

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

    Third Stanza:  No Ordinary Journey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Fourth Stanza:  The Allure of Lust

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

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

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

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

  • The Shakespeare Lyric “Orpheus”

    Image: Orpheus playing lyre

    The Shakespeare Lyric “Orpheus”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Commentary on “The Shakespeare Lyric ‘Orpheus’”

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

    Stanza 1:  Music’s Powerful Influence

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Stanza 2:   The Universal Influence of Music

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • Emily Dickinson’s “On this wondrous sea”

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

    Emily Dickinson’s “On this wondrous sea”

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

    Introduction and Text of “On this wondrous sea”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    On this wondrous sea

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

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

    Commentary on “On this wondrous sea”

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

    First Movement:  The Sea as Metaphor

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

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

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

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

    Second Movement:  Where Peace Reigns Supreme

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine

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

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

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

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

    First Movement:  Invocation to the Muses

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

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

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

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

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

    Second Movement:   Earth Creatures Pair Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Third Movement:  Thus It Follows That

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

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

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

    Fourth Movement:   A Shakespearean Command

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Winter is good – his Hoar Delights

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

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

    Commentary on “Winter is good – his Hoar Delights”

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

    First Stanza: Winter’s Buried Charms

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

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

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

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

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

    Second Stanza: Repository of Fine Qualities

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

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

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

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

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

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