Idioms of myriad worlds spiral down the begging path. The grain feathers tangle in the sandbar on the rim, Ending in the dwelling of manifest wrath With stupor offering its clank to the whim.
No one dreamed the others into swerving. Few sacrificed fathers and mothers for priding. Several rounded the edges on the curving. Many chafed at the marble pine for hiding.
The scooped talons of white crowing Dip under the sea-broad sky. Fleet winged bandies blowing Stretch and dither on the fly.
No tongue shatters so many brains as munificence. No tooth clatters the rain so well as malfeasance.
Edgar Lee Masters’ character, a dentist named Sersmith, pontificates on the political atmosphere, using rhetorical questions to emphasize his stance.
Introduction and Text of “Sersmith the Dentist”
In Edgar Lee Masters’ “Sersmith the Dentist” from the American classic Spoon River Anthology, the speaker asks four rhetorical questions and then offers a final philosophical summation.
This dentist proves to be one of the more bankrupt characters of the lot. He sees everything in terms of money. Although he does not offer a personal complaint as most of the speakers do, he goes on carping about societal and political issues.
Unfortunately, Sersmith’s clouded mind remains a one dimension of mediocrity and error. Misinterpreting religious and historical events leads him to ludicrous conclusions. While Sersmith the Dentist surely thinks himself clever as he remarks about the hollow tooth filled up with gold, his quip merely signals the hollow mind of the speaker.
Sersmith the Dentist
Do you think that odes and sermons, And the ringing of church bells, And the blood of old men and young men, Martyred for the truth they saw With eyes made bright by faith in God, Accomplished the world’s great reformations? Do you think that the Battle Hymn of the Republic Would have been heard if the chattel slave Had crowned the dominant dollar, In spite of Whitney’s cotton gin, And steam and rolling mills and iron And telegraphs and white free labor? Do you think that Daisy Fraser Had been put out and driven out If the canning works had never needed Her little house and lot? Or do you think the poker room Of Johnnie Taylor, and Burchard’s bar Had been closed up if the money lost And spent for beer had not been turned, By closing them, to Thomas Rhodes For larger sales of shoes and blankets, And children’s cloaks and gold-oak cradles? Why, a moral truth is a hollow tooth Which must be propped with gold.
Commentary on “Sersmith the Dentist”
While Sersmith the Dentist no doubt thinks himself a clever fellow as he remarks about the hollow tooth filled up with gold, his quip merely signals the hollow mind of the dentist.
First Movement: The Rhetorical No
Do you think that odes and sermons, And the ringing of church bells, And the blood of old men and young men, Martyred for the truth they saw With eyes made bright by faith in God, Accomplished the world’s great reformations?
First, Sersmith denigrates religion. His question reveals that he thinks “odes and sermons,” “the ringing of church bells,” and people whose faith brighten their spirit did not, in fact, “accomplish [ ] the world’s great reformations.”
By forming his deliberations into questions, Sersmith tries to emphasize the resounding “no” that he believes is the correct answer to each query. In fact, the dentist’s narrow-minded view can easily be refuted by pointing to the meaning of great historical movements: the birth of each of the world’s five major religions, Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam demolishes his putative claims utterly.
Each religion has had its martyrs and their names live in the hearts of the reformed. Thus the “no” that Sersmith expects is not forthcoming. Rhetorical questions can also be employed as weasel questions signaling that the questioner is basically unsure of his stance. While the effective rhetorical question offers a unique emphasis for its truth, when employed by imbeciles and jerkwaters, the device falls flat.
Second Movement: Revisionist History
Do you think that the Battle Hymn of the Republic Would have been heard if the chattel slave Had crowned the dominant dollar, In spite of Whitney’s cotton gin, And steam and rolling mills and iron And telegraphs and white free labor?
Sersmith’s second question is merely foolish. Slavery was abolished primarily because of moral reasons, not economical ones. Those who take the bash-America-first side always look for ways to malign events that prove otherwise.
Those who continue to disparage the United States over slavery turn a willful blind eye to the fact that hundreds of thousands of brave men and women died in order to accomplish that feat. As an educated man, Sersmith should know this historical fact.
Third Movement: Lack of Credibility
Do you think that Daisy Fraser Had been put out and driven out If the canning works had never needed Her little house and lot?
Sersmith now alludes to the character, “Daisy Fraser,” a prostitute who seems to know all kinds of lurid details about other members of the Spoon River community. Unfortunately, Daisy’s credibility is suspect, and now by associating his lot with hers. Sersmith adds yet another block of incredulity to his stack.
Fourth Movement: The Spoonian Evil
Or do you think the poker room Of Johnnie Taylor, and Burchard’s bar Had been closed up if the money lost And spent for beer had not been turned, By closing them, to Thomas Rhodes For larger sales of shoes and blankets, And children’s cloaks and gold-oak cradles? Why, a moral truth is a hollow tooth Which must be propped with gold.
Beginning to repeat himself, again Sersmith decries the selling off of one establishment in order to benefit another. He invokes the name, “Thomas Rhodes,” which becomes a spoonian meme for evil. “Thomas Rhodes” turns up often throughout the Spoon River Anthology, whenever a villain is needed.
Fifth Movement: The Vacuous Mindset
Why, a moral truth is a hollow tooth Which must be propped with gold.
Sersmith’s final couplet attempts to couple his dental wisdom and his political acumen by likening a “moral truth” to a “hollow tooth” which is filled with gold. The dentist’s quip is more comical than wise, more pathetic than informative. Such is the nature of this mindset, forever and anon.
Origin of the “Sexsmith” Error
The title of this Edgar Lee Masters’ epitaph “Sersmith the Dentist” is often misspelled across the Internet as “Sexsmith the Dentist.” In all published print copies of the Spoon River Anthology in which that epitaph appears, beginning with the 1916 edition published by Macmillan in New York, the spelling is “Sersmith” not “Sexsmith.”
The “Sexsmith” misspelling appears in a number of contemporary sources, such as a bartleby.com entry from July 1999. Other current reprints replicate this error, including youtube. Other errors appear here, here, and here. Unfortunately, these sites are not the only ones perpetuating this error.
Fraktur: Possible Reason for the Error
This misspelling likely comes from an optical character recognition (OCR) error in reading the ornate typeset in which the titles were displayed in that early edition of the Spoon River Anthology.
In that first edition in which the Sersmith epitaph appears, titles are displayed in a font called “Fraktur,” which is a typeface style developed in the early 16th century in Germany.
The typeface Fraktur is ornate, rather flowery with curves and spikes, and thus it is highly decorative. It was widely used in German printing until the 20th century. (See image below.)
I Your six two, one eighty eases these bleary eyes that brighten for pretty things, and the screen adores every inch and pound. You throb this old girl’s eyeballs now that David Hasselhoff’s Baywatch is rendering up reruns of reruns; your Renegade dismisses my school daze. A martial artist, kicking in heads, then beautifully escaping the corrupt cops that would corrupt your loveliness in a gray cell, and leave your fresh flesh rotting on death row, victim of their frame-up.
I tingle like a school girl watching your long legs and bulbed muscles. Your divine face proves God. Angels sigh when you speak. From hair to boots you remind me that there is so much more to pleasure than is dreamed of by nervous network executives. I’ll write you into the script of my poems, because your form is blazing across the marquee of my mind.
II In my temple of dreams you carry candles & light up Indiana & the church swells with voices of answered prayers. Although I’ve never motorcycled, I’ve a mind to hog now that I’ve caught your long hair stroking your shoulders & that shadow of Latin manhood stressing your sleek jaw. I fancy I’ll ride with you awhile. My body tight against yours as you whisk us off to—oh, maybe San Diego or Mexico.
III Your divine face proves God, and angels sigh when you speak. The cleverest magician could not conjure up the magic your image impresses on my soul. I’ve known beauty in the human form before, or at least I thought I had: the gods of Greece flicker in the light of your Latin flame.
But you were not born with the silver spoon of beauty in your mouth: you’ve pumped iron and jogged, and grown lean on dinner salads. your appearance in Grease affirms your youthful form clothed itself in baby fat; that mute, blond, Nordic jock you portrayed did not hint at the solid rock of muscle you stock, and long, slim lines you draw now.
Griffy waxes philosophical about life from his experience as a cooper. But his thinking results in an unprincipled point of view. He shows himself to be weak as his diatribe remains trivial even nonsensical.
Introduction and Text of “Griffy the Cooper”
In Edgar Lee Masters’ “Griffy the Cooper” from the American classic Spoon River Anthology, the speaker, known only as Griffy, expounds on his expertise as a maker of tubs, extending his knowledge to a supposed profound conclusion that because of societal moral restraints, living life is like a living in a tub.
While the speaker’s metaphor is somewhat clever, it eventually falls flat because his attempt to give advice remains weak and ineffectual. Griffy’s premise that to escape the “tub” citizens should break societal “[t]aboos and rules” remains dangerously faulty. Such nonsense would ultimately lead to the penitentiary, the biggest “tub” of all.
This speaker apparently is unaware that to break out the societal prison, one must look within, not try to interfere with the very laws and rules that allow society to function. Griffy is simply a name-calling lout, among the many others like him, trying to elevate his own worth by lessening that of others, as he spouts is pedestrian view of behavior.
Griffy the Cooper
The cooper should know about tubs. But I learned about life as well, And you who loiter around these graves Think you know life. You think your eye sweeps about a wide horizon, perhaps, In truth you are only looking around the interior of your tub. You cannot lift yourself to its rim And see the outer world of things, And at the same time see yourself. You are submerged in the tub of yourself— Taboos and rules and appearances, Are the staves of your tub. Break them and dispel the witchcraft Of thinking your tub is life! And that you know life!
Commentary on “Griffy the Cooper”
Griffy waxes philosophical about life from his experience as a cooper. But his thinking results in an unprincipled point of view. He shows himself to be weak as his diatribe remains trivial even nonsensical.
First Movement: What He Should Know About
The cooper should know about tubs. But I learned about life as well, And you who loiter around these graves Think you know life.
Griffy begins by touting his own knowledge about what he should know and that is, of course, “about tubs.” But he then begins his discourse on learning about life in addition to his expertise in tub-making.
Griffy then insults the folks who would come around “these graves” by calling them loiterers who think they know about life. But Griffy has some news for them, and he will show them that they do not know about life, but he does.
Second Movement: Inside Their Own Tubs
You think your eye sweeps about a wide horizon, perhaps, In truth you are only looking around the interior of your tub.
Griffy says to those who loiter about the graves that they think they see so widely “about a wide horizon,” but in fact they are really only seeing the “interior of [their] tub.” A useful example would have added to Griffy’s discourse, but then his offering such an example likely would have detracted from Griffy’s intellectual bankruptcy. Thus Griffy’s diatribe remains vague and hollow.
Third Movement: No True Frame of Reference
You cannot lift yourself to its rim And see the outer world of things, And at the same time see yourself.
So, with the metaphor established that all of the grave-loiterers are firmly ensconced in their own tub, Griffy explains that from that tub they cannot lift “[themselves] to its rim.”
Because they cannot lift themselves, they cannot see what is actually happening outside of their tubs. He says they have no true frame of reference, because they cannot see “the outer world of things” and “at the same time see [themselves].” At this point, Griffy has begun a useful analogy, but can he make it work for a useful conclusion?
Fourth Movement: A Tub of Rules
You are submerged in the tub of yourself— Taboos and rules and appearances, Are the staves of your tub.
According to Griffy, the people are “submerged in the tub of [themselves].” And societal rules, taboos, and outward appearances form the “staves of [their] tub.” In other words, people are imprisoned by the very schema that allows a civilized society to function. Maybe Griffy should have tried a little harder to see over the lip of his own tub before drawing conclusions that would hold less water than his tubs.
Fifth Movement: The Efficacy of Breaking Rules
Break them and dispel the witchcraft Of thinking your tub is life! And that you know life!
The bankruptcy of Griffy’s philosophy is conclusively revealed by his last proclamation. He simply commands his audience, that is, those loitering around the graves, to break those annoying “staves” and just stop thinking “your tub is life!”
That is Griffy’s advice: “Break them and dispel the witchcraft / Of thinking your tub is life!” “Them” invariably includes all the laws that keep society functioning. And. no doubt, while Griffy is referring to religious law as “witchcraft,” he has no substantial knowledge about the history and purpose of the great world religions.
Griffy implores his listeners to stop thinking “that you know life!” Then what? He then puts a hold on his diatribe before he could fill out his philosophy and explain the consequences of his demands.
This state of affairs remains rather typical for the Spoon River inmates who are big on hot-air inflated rhetoric and small on truth and logic. The reader will assign Griffy to the category of pathetic blow-hards whose epitaphs reek of a pompous nihilism.
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 “Ambition cannot find him”
The speaker contemplates the profound transition from worldly obscurity to eternal stature following the quiet arrival of death.
Introduction and Text of “Ambition cannot find him”
In Emily Dickinson’s “Ambition cannot find him,” the speaker contemplates the dramatic transformation that takes place when a soul departs from its physical encasement. Death elevates the individual far beyond mundane human striving, creating an insurmountable distance between earthly concerns and spiritual liberation.
The speaker observes that earthly desires, emotional attachments, and social strivings lose all traction once a person steps across the mortal threshold. Transitioning into the unseen realm places the departed soul beyond the reach of both personal fame and human affection.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s habit of elevating inner awareness over outer circumstance. Here, the speaker asserts that the true elevation of the soul occurs far from mortal sight.
Ambition cannot find him
Ambition cannot find him. Affection doesn’t know How many leagues of nowhere Lie between them now.
Yesterday, undistinguished! Eminent Today For our mutual hone, Immortality!
Commentary on “Ambition cannot find him”
The speaker explores death’s shifting of a person’s status from complete earthly obscurity into infinite spiritual significance.
First Stanza: “Ambition cannot find him”
Ambition cannot find him. Affection doesn’t know How many leagues of nowhere Lie between them now.
The speaker begins by personifying “Ambition,” declaring that this driving human force can no longer reach or influence the deceased. Earthly drives lose all relevance once the soul departs the physical realm.
Human “Affection” also suffers a complete loss of contact, remaining entirely unaware of the vast expanse that now separates the living from the dead; mortal love cannot bridge this gap.
The speaker describes this spatial separation as “leagues of nowhere.” This phrase emphasizes the vast, unmeasurable vacuum that divides physical life from the metaphysical state. This vast void creates an absolute boundary. The departed soul exists entirely beyond the reach of human emotional calls or worldly seeking.
The speaker emphasizes that earthly perceptions fail to comprehend the realm of the departed. Human relationships are bound by space, whereas the soul transcends all material dimensions.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s preference for solitary spiritual journeys over communal ties. The departed soul embarks on a path where worldly bonds naturally dissolve.
The great Guru Paramahansa Yogananda explains that death is similar to a change of clothing. The speaker reflects this truth as the soul transitions into a completely different sphere of existence.
Through contemplative musing, the speaker recognizes that the vast distance between realms protects the departed soul. Unseen boundaries keep it safe from all earthly turbulence.
Second Stanza: “Yesterday, undistinguished!”
Yesterday, undistinguished! Eminent Today For our mutual hone, Immortality!
The speaker highlights a startling contrast, noting that the departed individual was “undistinguished” during earthly life. Yesterday, the person possessed no special fame or worldly acclaim; ”Today,” however, that same individual becomes “Eminent.”
The act of dying immediately elevates the soul above all mortal titles and achievements.
This elevation occurs because the soul has entered “Immortality.” Eternal life bestows a true dignity that no earthly praise could ever match.
The speaker refers to immortality as “our mutual hone,” implying that the material, earthly plane is not the soul’s native home: the old blue grass song “This World Is Not My Home” addresses and celebrate that theme. This shared destiny sharpens and refines human consciousness, preparing every soul for ultimate spiritual elevation.
Bill Monroe & His Blue Grass Boys perform “This World Is Not My Home”
Through contemplative musing, the speaker shows that true distinction comes from entering the eternal realm, not from acquiring fleeting worldly honors. Greatness is re-defined through the lens of eternity. What seemed ordinary in the physical world becomes glorious upon crossing into spirit.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that the soul’s true nature is divine and eternal, far transcending any temporary physical identity. Dickinson’s speaker captures this profound realization through the quiet triumph of death.
The poem concludes with a celebration of the soul’s sudden transition. Entering immortality grants every individual an enduring grandeur that earthly life and a physical encasement can never offer.
Dear Head, I am writing this letter to apologize for all the agony I have put you through because of my cravings. Thank you for supplying the long slender objects that have thrust themselves into me from time to time— the fingers, the tongues, the carrots that have made my pleasure spot throb. I know those acts must have embarrassed you, having to expose your breasts and belly and buttocks to get the flesh tools to work. Most of the owners of the flesh tools were gross; I always liked the tongues and fingers better than the pricks, but I understand now where you were coming from, I’m sorry if I had anything to do with making you think I needed all that goo sprayed into me, it was always just the throb I wanted, not the job, especially not the clean up afterward. Again, I apologize, and promise to remain as humbly quiet as I can from now on. (Oh, yeah, FYI—despite male ego and female confusion on the subject, all of us girls are really lesbians.)
Yours in peace, DU
Dear Heart, I am writing this to apologize for all the aching I have caused you. I know you felt left out every time one of those prong-owners went straight for me. I apologize for hiding here under this bush, ambushing the meat, I know I have been a hungry bitch, and I have stolen from you more than I could ever return. You have the last laugh, your blood is still running and mine is dry. I promise I will not prompt you again, I hope you have a serene life,
I am finally learning to live in tranquility. No more vaginitis and no more yeast infections, a disease-free environment encourages peace within and without.
Yours for love, DU
A slightly different version of this original poem appears in my collection titled “Turtle Woman & Other Poems” under the title “Letters from V”
Henry Bennett is a pathetic character, who realizes too late that he has been played for fool by his wife.
Introduction and Text of “Hon. Henry Bennett”
Edgar Lee Masters’ again allows his Spoon River lamenter to fashion his lament in an American-Innovative sonnet. Featuring the traditional fourteen lines, the sonnet remain rimeless and without a definite rhythm patters.
In Edgar Lee Masters’ “Hon. Henry Bennett” from the American classic Spoon River Anthology, the speaker laments his rapacious wife’s treachery: she effectively “loved” him to death, but not out of love. His wife had in mind to inherit Henry’s fortune and then marry the man of her dreams, the one with big muscles and a small brain.
The Honorable Henry Bennett is one of Spoon River’s more pathetic characters. His wife, who was much younger than the judge, literally screwed the man to death. By the time he realized what was happening, he was on his deathbed. The wife’s treachery rendered the poor man a fool.
Hon. Henry Bennett
It never came into my mind Until I was ready to die That Jenny had loved me to death, with malice of heart. For I was seventy, she was thirty-five, And I wore myself to a shadow trying to husband Jenny, rosy Jenny full of the ardor of life. For all my wisdom and grace of mind Gave her no delight at all, in very truth, But ever and anon she spoke of the giant strength Of Willard Shafer, and of his wonderful feat Of lifting a traction engine out of the ditch One time at Georgie Kirby’s. So Jenny inherited my fortune and married Willard— That mount of brawn! That clownish soul!
Commentary on “Hon. Henry Bennett”
Henry Bennett is a pathetic character, who realizes too late that he has been played for fool by his wife.
First Movement: “Loved” to Death
It never came into my mind Until I was ready to die That Jenny had loved me to death, with malice of heart.
Judge Bennett confesses that it had not occurred to him until he was on his death bed that his young wife, Jenny, had deliberately tried to kill him by engaging him in too much sexual activity.
The young Jenny literally “loved him to death.” Euphemizing lascivious marital relations as “love,” the judge, nevertheless, now realizes that her intention had nothing to do with love and affection but with “with malice of heart.”
Second Movement: Twice Her Age
For I was seventy, she was thirty-five, And I wore myself to a shadow trying to husband Jenny, rosy Jenny full of the ardor of life.
The Honorable Henry Bennett was seventy years old when he married the woman, Jenny, who was half his age. She was “full of the ardor of life”—another veiled reference to her oversexualized comportment.
In the judge’s supposed husbandly duties, the poor Henry “wore [himself] to a shadow” attempting to keep Jenny satisfied. He also describes Jenny as “rosy,” indicating the rush of blood that appears on the skin after a sexual encounter.
Third Movement: No Interest in His Mind
For all my wisdom and grace of mind Gave her no delight at all, in very truth, But ever and anon she spoke of the giant strength Of Willard Shafer, and of his wonderful feat Of lifting a traction engine out of the ditch One time at Georgie Kirby’s.
Jenny demonstrated no interest in the judge’s “wisdom and grace of mind.” We have to take Henry’s word for it that he possessed such praiseworthy qualities, but whatever his redeeming qualities might have been, his wife showed no interest in them.
Instead, the wife admired physical strength. She was always taunting Henry by repeating the story that Willard Shafer had “lift[ed] a traction engine out of the ditch / One time at Geogrie Kirby’s.”
His wife likely used this story repeatedly to entice Henry to service her sexually in order weaken Henry’s health. But of course, as Henry said, he did not realize the nasty game Jenny was playing until it was too late.
Fourth Movement: Rich Enough to Marry Her Stud
So Jenny inherited my fortune and married Willard— That mount of brawn! That clownish soul!
To make a long story short, Henry quickly sums up his lament by reporting that after his death, Jenny married the man of the “giant strength,” Willard Shafer, after inheriting Henry’s fortune. Jenny’s scheme succeeded, and Henry is left to name-call Jenny’s new husband, “That mount of brawn! That clownish soul!”
Lacking the “wisdom and grace of mind” of the Honorable Henry Bennett, the strongman Willard Shafer wins the woman and the judge’s money. And the Hon. Henry Bennett is not at all happy, definitely not resting in peace.
Interviewer: What has become of your face? Mirror: It is like the moon; it has 28 phases.
Interviewer: When did those eyes become blanks? Mirror: Oh, when is not important. The question is, are they blank enough.
Interviewer: Where does that sallow skin come from? Mirror: From deep inside where sallow is mixed with saffron and clumps of leaves are torn from shadow boxes with fennel pollen.
Interviewer: Why fennel pollen? Mirror: Why fennel pollen, indeed! Better than mace and thyme, more elaborate than a whistle, sweet, spice, electric . . .
Interviewer: Why does your mouth obey those loose-hinged jaws? Mirror: It was never one to disobey. In the radical morning, scruffs of necks seek to burn, and limber goths slink back to the swamp.
Interviewer: How will your heart explain to your brain that it has shattered itself again over the sharp rocks of indulgence? Mirror: Now, I am a small pool of crystal water that rushed down from the Himalayas to gather fools who have no right to breathe the temperate air of Maya, yet . . . they travel on.
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 “Success is counted sweetest”
Emily Dickinson’s “Success is counted sweetest” reveals the speaker’s conviction that victory is most deeply understood by those who have experienced its absence. The poem turns deprivation into a peculiar form of insight. This poem is one of Dickinson’s most anthologized and studied poems.
Introduction and Text of “Success is counted sweetest”
In Emily Dickinson’s “Success is counted sweetest,” the speaker presents success as something whose value becomes clearest through profound need. The person who possesses victory may enjoy it, but the person who has been denied success may understand its sweetness more intensely.
The speaker creates a little drama involving two contrasting figures: the victorious soldiers who possess the “Flag” and the defeated soldier who lies dying. The contrast allows the speaker to suggest that possession and comprehension are not necessarily the same thing.
On the literal level, the speaker is describing a battlefield in which one group has achieved victory while another has suffered defeat. Yet the language quickly moves beyond the battlefield toward a larger contemplation of desire, deprivation, perception, and the strange ways suffering can deepen understanding.
The image of “nectar” introduces sweetness into an otherwise painful setting. The speaker suggests that something desired becomes especially precious when it has been withheld. The defeated soldier, unable to possess victory, nevertheless receives an agonizingly clear awareness of its meaning.
This paradox gives the poem its particular force. The person who has lost may understand the value of winning more profoundly than the person who has won. The speaker thus transforms defeat into a peculiar kind of knowledge.
Success is counted sweetest
Success is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need.
Not one of all the purple Host Who took the Flag today Can tell the definition So clear of Victory
As he defeated – dying – On whose forbidden ear The distant strain of triumph Burst agonized and clear!
Commentary on “Success is counted sweetest”
The speaker presents success as a mysterious experience whose meaning becomes clearest when it has been denied. The battlefield supplies the literal drama, but the deeper subject concerns the relationship between desire and understanding.
First Stanza: “Success is counted sweetest”
Success is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need.
The speaker begins with an apparently simple statement: “Success is counted sweetest” by those who never experience it. The claim immediately creates a paradox because ordinary thinking assumes that the person who achieves success should understand its value best.
The speaker reverses that expectation. The successful person possesses the desired object, while the unsuccessful person remains painfully conscious of its absence. That absence produces an intensity of desire that possession may actually diminish.
The word “sweetest” introduces the language of taste. Success becomes something almost edible, something that can be savored like nectar. Yet the speaker does not allow the reader simply to enjoy the sweetness. She connects comprehension with “sorest need.”
The word “nectar” suggests something precious, desirable, and almost divine. To taste such sweetness would ordinarily require possession, but the speaker introduces a startling alternative: the deepest comprehension may arise through hunger rather than satisfaction.
The status “In need” is therefore more than simply lacking something. Need creates attention. The person who desperately wants something studies its value, imagines its qualities, and becomes intensely aware of what its absence means.
Paramahansa Yogananda offers a spiritual parallel when he explains that ordinary desire can produce temporary pleasure, while deeper fulfillment lies beyond the repeated cycle of wanting and satisfying desire.
The speaker’s “sorest need” likewise becomes a doorway to understanding. The unsuccessful person cannot taste the literal nectar of success, but deprivation makes the imagined sweetness extraordinarily vivid.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s privileging inner evidence over outer awareness. Here that tendency appears in another form: outward possession does not guarantee inward comprehension.
The first stanza therefore establishes the poem’s central paradox. What appears to be deprivation may actually produce a more penetrating awareness. The person without success may understand its value with an intensity unavailable to the person who simply possesses it.
Second Stanza: “Not one of all the purple Host”
Not one of all the purple Host Who took the Flag today Can tell the definition So clear of Victory
The speaker now introduces the victorious soldiers. The “purple Host” suggests a magnificent military company, while the “Flag” functions as the visible emblem of their triumph.
The word “today” makes the victory immediate. These soldiers have just experienced the excitement of conquest. They possess the very thing that the first stanza says the unsuccessful person understands most deeply.
Yet the speaker declares that not one of these victorious soldiers can provide a definition of victory as clear as the defeated soldier can. This claim deepens the paradox established earlier.
The soldiers who have captured the Flag know victory through possession. They have experienced the excitement, satisfaction, and public recognition associated with winning. Their understanding, however, remains limited by the very fact that they have succeeded.
The defeated soldier possesses no Flag and receives no public celebration. Instead, he receives the painful knowledge of what victory means because he is excluded from it.
The speaker’s choice of “definition” is especially interesting. She is not merely saying that the defeated soldier feels victory more intensely; she is suggesting that he can define it more accurately.
A definition ordinarily belongs to the realm of intellectual understanding. Dickinson therefore joins emotion and knowledge. The deepest understanding may not come from detached observation but from experiencing the painful consequences of what one lacks.
The “purple Host” also creates a visually impressive picture of victory. The soldiers appear splendid, powerful, and successful. Yet the speaker quietly strips that outward magnificence of its authority to define the experience.
The victorious soldiers possess the external evidence of success, while the defeated soldier possesses the inward evidence of its meaning. The contrast recalls the speaker’s recurring interest in unseen realities beneath visible circumstances.
Paramahansa Yogananda similarly directs attention toward inner realization rather than merely outward circumstances. He teaches that spiritual progress becomes evident through inner changes such as increasing calmness, joy, understanding, and security.
Thus the speaker’s battlefield becomes something larger than a military scene. The Flag represents outward achievement, while the defeated soldier represents the inward consciousness produced by deprivation.
The stanza ends with the victorious soldiers apparently holding everything that matters. Yet the speaker has already prepared readers to question whether possession itself constitutes the deepest form of understanding.
Third Stanza: “As he defeated – dying”
As he defeated – dying – On whose forbidden ear The distant strain of triumph Burst agonized and clear!
The final stanza brings the reader directly to the defeated soldier. He is not merely unsuccessful; he is “defeated – dying –.” The dashes slow the statement and create a dramatic pause around his terrible condition.
The word “forbidden” is particularly powerful. The soldier’s ear is forbidden to hear victory in the sense that victory does not belong to him. Yet he hears it anyway, and what he hears becomes extraordinarily vivid.
The image “distant strain of triumph” is both musical and military. The victorious soldiers may be celebrating somewhere beyond him, but their sounds reach the dying man. Their triumph becomes audible precisely because he has been excluded from it.
The speaker then introduces the astonishing phrase “agonized and clear.” The sound of victory is beautiful to those who have won, but to the defeated soldier it is agonizing. His suffering makes the meaning of the sound sharper rather than less distinct.
The dying soldier therefore possesses something the victorious soldiers do not: an almost unbearable awareness of what victory means to the person who has been denied it.
The poem ends without offering consolation. The speaker does not pretend that defeat is actually preferable to victory. Instead, she leaves readers contemplating the strange relationship between loss and understanding.
The dying soldier’s position also creates a profound irony. He cannot claim the Flag, participate in the triumph, or survive to enjoy any victory. Nevertheless, he may understand victory more clearly than those who celebrate it.
This final image turns the poem into a riddle about human experience. The reader must consider whether possession, deprivation, suffering, and understanding can ever be separated as neatly as ordinary thinking assumes.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s tendency to create little dramas that operate as riddles, allowing readers to discover meanings that are not stated directly. That same strategy is evident here.
The battlefield can therefore be read literally while also functioning as a larger representation of human striving. Success may be visible from the outside, while its deepest significance remains hidden within the person who longs for it.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that true success ultimately involves something deeper than worldly achievement. He describes realization of the divine Self as “the ultimate success,” connecting genuine fulfillment with victory over the limitations of worldly existence.
Dickinson’s speaker does not explicitly make this spiritual assertion, but her drama leaves room for such contemplative musing. The victorious soldiers possess the Flag, while the defeated soldier possesses a painful clarity that outward victory cannot provide.
The poem’s final irony is therefore its most enduring insight: sometimes the person who appears to have lost possesses the clearest understanding of what the winner has gained. Success may belong to one person outwardly while its deepest meaning belongs to another inwardly.
