Easter, 1916 by William Butler Yeats

I HAVE met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When, young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse;
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road.
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born. 

            The poem Easter 1916 was written in September 1916 as a response to the Irish Nationalists’ fail in their uprising to the British government, which occurred during the week of Easter Sunday in 1916.  Many of the Irish rebels were defeated, and in May of 1916, the Irish leaders, who barricaded the post office buildings were executed by the British army.  The four men named in the poem were executed after this rebellion, in addition to the hundreds killed during the uprising.  The poem is written with a traditional ABAB rhyme scheme, and it is broken into four 24-line stanzas.

            The poem opens with the speaker’s description of his encounters with the rebels, pre-rebellion.  The speaker’s tone indicates that his previous encounters with the rebels, before they were so, were very casual.  His encounters with them consisted often of him passing “with a nod of the head/Or polite meaningless words.”(5-6) He recalls seeing them return home from work, “from counter or desk.”(3) The repetition of the words “polite meaningless words” shows that the speaker’s exchanges with those killed in the rebellion were quite mundane, and rather unimportant to him.

            Throughout the second stanza, the speaker seems to be trying to say that appearances are often deceptive in nature.  He seems to be saying that although the woman in the second stanza appears to be superficial and living her life in “ignorant good will,”(18) her nights were spent “in argument/Until her voice grew shrill.”(19-20) This suggests that the female Irish rebel being discussed in the first half of the second stanza was simply putting on a show of doing right by the British government, though her evenings were filled with her protestations and opinions.

            The third stanza is very metaphorical, discussing a stone in a stream.  In the first line, the speaker states, “Hearts with one purpose alone/Through summer and winter seem/Enchanted to a stone/To trouble the living stream.”(41-44) The stone is clearly a symbol, and therefore this stanza can be interpreted in an infinite number of ways.  The way in which I interpreted it was that one’s heart only has one purpose, whether it is to beat in order for an organism to live, or to love another forever, then it will turn to stone, and not be able to function in any other way.  This will cause problems in “the living stream,” as something which can only have one function seems more of a burden than a joy or gift.  Life will continue to happen while this mono-functioning heart is “in the midst of it all.”  The Irish rebels’ sole purpose, in their own eyes, was to rebel against the British government. 

            In the fourth stanza, the speaker is focusing on the sacrifice of men, whether necessary or not.  In the very first two lines, the speaker states that “Too long a sacrifice/Can make a stone of the heart.” This statement is in reference to the sacrifice and suffering of the Irish, and how the prolonged sacrifice hardens the heart.

An Explication of Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott"

 The Lady of Shalott

Part I.


On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
   To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
   The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
   Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
   The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veil'd
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
   Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
   The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
   Down to tower'd Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy
   Lady of Shalott."


      Part II.

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
   To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
   The Lady of Shalott.

And moving thro' a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
   Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
   Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
   Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
   The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
   And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
"I am half-sick of shadows," said
   The Lady of Shalott.


      Part III.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
   Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A redcross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
   Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle-bells rang merrily
   As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
   Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
   As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
   Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
   As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
   Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
   She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
   The Lady of Shalott.


      Part IV.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale-yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
   Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
   The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse--
Like some bold seër in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance--
With a glassy countenance
   Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
   The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right--
The leaves upon her falling light--
Thro' the noises of the night
   She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
   The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
   Turn'd to tower'd Camelot;
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
   The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
A corse between the houses high,
   Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
   The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross'd themselves for fear,
   All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
   The Lady of Shalott."

An Explication

     The Lady of Shalott is a poem of a woman, (the Lady of Shalott) who spends her days viewing her mirror, which faces the outside world, and she weaves what she sees in the mirror.  The woman lives on the island of Shalott, and island that lies in the middle of a river upstream from Camelot.  In her mirror, she often sees the knights and people of Camelot riding or walking by.  The farmers hear her singing, and are drawn to her, although they can never see her.  The lady is, by curse, forbidden to look out her window directly to the outside world.  While weaving one day, she catches a glimpse of Sir Lancelot and turns to look directly at him.  The mirror shatters, and she feels the weight of her curse upon her.  She leaves her tower and carves her name into a boat and gets in to float down the river while singing her death song.

            Although the speaker is not identified, nor does he/she seem to be addressing anyone in particular, the poem opens with a depiction of the situation, and the view of the island of Shalott from the unidentified passerby’s perspective.  The people mentioned are unnamed, and bear no actual significance, other than they are what the Lady of Shalott sees in her mirror every day. 

            In lines 10-18, there is a great contrast shown in the scenery between the dark grey walls of Camelot and the whitening willows, and the flowers.  The movement and freedom of the aspens and willows shows the beauty of nature in the poem and also the freedom and movement, which is then contrasted with the hard, still walls and towers of Camelot.  In line 16, the flowers are not described by their movement, color, or beauty, but rather by their being “overlooked” by the “four gray walls, four gray towers”(15) The river is described as “silent” as it “imbowers/The Lady of Shalott.”(17-18) The imagery of being trapped by silence all around in contrast to the freedom and beauty of nature, as well as society gives a true feeling of loneliness and entrapment to the reader, which greatly impacts Tennyson’s introduction to the Lady of Shalott in line 18.

            In lines 19-27, the speaker focuses on the freedom and human activity occurring all around the island of Shalott.  There are the large barges carrying heavy loads, “trail’d/By slow horses.”(20-21) The beauty of nature is once again stressed when the speaker describes “the margin, willow veil’d.”(19) In contrast to all of the activity surrounding the island of Shalott, the speaker asks, “who hath seen her wave her hand?”(25) implying that nobody has every seen the Lady of Shalott, giving the very accurate impression that she is mysterious being.  The only people who have ever heard the Lady of Shalott, (which is the most indication that anyone has ever gotten of a person living in the tower) are the farmers who do their work so early in the morning that the moon is still out.  Because nobody has ever seen her, but only heard her singing, the farmers believe that she is a spirit, or a fairy. 

            In most stories which a maiden is trapped in a tower, the woman seems very unhappy and longs for her prince to come and rescue her.  In The Lady of Shalott, the woman is quite content being locked in her tower and using her weaving as a substitute for human interaction, although she does not know why she must not look directly at Camelot.  In line 55, the opinion of the woman changes, as she speaks for the first time, declaring that she is unhappy with the situation.  The reason she is so suddenly unhappy is due to the events such as a wedding and a funeral which passed by her window.  These events made her realize how lonely she was, not being able to participate and interact with other humans.

            Sir Lancelot is introduced into the poem in lines 73-81, and the imagery used in his description is very significant in the poem.  Nearly all of the words used to describe Lancelot have some reference to a bright light, or flame.  The end of the fifth stanza in Part III of this poem is the best example for the reader, as the speaker uses the words “burned like one burning flame together” to describe all of Lancelot’s attire and riding material. 

            The irony that the woman brought the curse upon her to look at Lancelot, only to see his helmet and the feather on it is in a way, pushed to the side by all the mystical things that occur next.  The curse aforementioned in line 40 is real, her mirror shatters, and the tapestry unravels itself.  The Lady of Shalott begins her journey to die as she leaves her tower and climbs into a boat that she carves her name into.  The woman floats down the river singing her death song, “till her blood was frozen slowly.”(147) The irony previously mentioned is brought back I into the picture with Lancelot’s reaction of indifference to her death, as he did not know the circumstances.  When her body is found, the knights gather around it, and all Lancelot has to say is “God in his mercy lend her grace.”(170) This would be a perfectly appropriate thing to say if the woman had just died, but she had literally given up her entire life just for the chance to look at him, only to catch a glimpse of his helmet and feather. 

              

Alice Fell (William Wordsworth)

Alice Fell
William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

The Post-boy drove with fierce career,
For threat'ning clouds the moon had drown'd;
When suddenly I seem'd to hear
A moan, a lamentable sound.

As if the wind blew many ways
I heard the sound, and more and more:
It seem'd to follow with the Chaise,
And still I heard it as before.

At length I to the Boy call'd out,
He stopp'd hi horses at the word;
But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout
Nor aught else like it could be heard.

The Boy then smack'd his whip, and fast
The horses scamper'd through the rain;
And soon I heard upon the blast
The voice, and bad him halt again.

Said I, alighting on the ground,
"What can it be, this piteous moan?"
And there a little Girl I found,
Sitting behind the Chaise, alone.

"My Cloak!" the word was last and first,
And loud and bitterly she wept,
As if her very heart would burst;
And down from off the Chaise she leapt.

"What ails you, Child?" she sobb'd, "Look here!"
I saw it in the wheel entangled,
A weather beaten Rag as e'er
From any garden scare-crow dangled.

'Twas twisted betwixt nave and spoke;
Her help she lent, and with good heed 
Together we released the Cloak;
A wretched, wretched rag indeed!

"And whither are you going, Child,
To night along these lonesome ways?"
"To Durham" answer'd she half wild--
"Then come with me into the chaise."

She sat elike one past all relief;
Sob after sob she forth did send
In wretchedness, as if her grief
Could never, never, have an end.

"My Child, in Durham do you dwell?"
She check'd herself in her distress,
And said, "My name is Alice Fell;
I'm fatherless and motherless."
 
"And I to Durham, Sir, belong."
And then, as if the thought would choke 
Her very heart, her grief grew strong;
And all was for her tatter'd Cloak.

The chaise drove on; our journey's end
Was nigh; and, sitting by my side,
As if she'd lost her only friend
She wept, nor would be pacified.

Up to the Tavern-door we post;
Of Alice and her grief I told;
And I gave money to the Host,
To buy a new Cloak for the old.

"And let it be of duffil grey,
As warm a cloak as man can sell!"
Proud Creature was she the next day,
The little Orphan, Alice Fell!

In Wordsworth’s poem Alice Fell, he is dramatizing the idea that poverty is one of the main reasons for misery in the British Romanticism era.  The narrator is an unnamed speaker who meets the girl, Alice Fell on the road.  They are never identified as a male or female, although when reading the poem it felt as though it was a male.  The narrator isn’t speaking to any audience in particular, and only addresses the only three other characters mentioned in the poem—the Post-boy, Alice Fell, and the Host of the Tavern.

The poem is written in a standard ABAB rhyme scheme.  The words that seemed to provide the most effect are the last word or two of each stanza.  Those last few words tend to truly make an impact, because it is usually at the end of each stanza that a reader thinks about what they just read.  It isn’t at the beginning, or the middle, it is at the end.  It provides a clean break for the reader to stop and think before continuing on to the next stanza. 

The poem takes place in the night, when the narrator is riding in his chaise to an unnamed destination, though later in the poem, whether it was the original destination or not, it is Durham.  “For threat’ning clouds the moon had drown’d…” (2) The narrator and the Post-boy are trying to escape an on-coming storm. 

The narrator meets Alice Fell on the road when he is travelling in his chaise.  The two encounter one another when he hears Alice crying out.  “When suddenly I seem’d to hear, A moan, a lamentable sound.” (4) The narrator pities Alice, especially when he sees that the cause of her distress is an already ratted cloak caught in the wheel.  “I saw it in the wheel entangled, A weather beaten rag as e’er…A wretched, wretched rag indeed!” (26-27, 32) When he comes across Alice in her state of distress, Wordsworth seems to be trying to convey that the reason her particular character is in such a state of misery is due to her poverty the fact that she is an orphan.  The reader would understand that given the time during which Wordsworth had written the poem, this was the most common cause of a person’s misery. 

 

Work Without Hope (Samuel Taylor Coleridge)

Work Without Hope

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)

All Nature seems at work.  Slugs leave their lair-

The bees are stirring-birds are on the wing-

And Winter slumbering in the open air,

Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!

And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make nor pair, nor uild, nor sing.

Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,

Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow

Bloom, O ye amaranths! Bloom for whome ye may,

For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!

With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:

And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?

Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,

And Hope without an object cannot live. 

The poem Work Without Hope by Coleridge is a poem written through the eyes of the narrator, describing his observations of the new spring.  In the first stanza of the poem, the narrator expresses his dark and rather depressed moods regarding the contrast of himself to the busy workings of nature.  The narrator examines how nature, as well as all the creatures which exist in it are constantly in motion, executing some sort of task. “All Nature seems at work.  Slugs leave their lair—the bees are stirring—birds are on the wing…” (1-2) While the narrator observes all of this, the reader can observe through his attitude that he has a difficult time appreciating all of this, as well as himself.  He perceives himself as a “sole unbusy thing,” (5) when contrasting himself to the constant happenings and tasks carried out by the creatures in nature.  “And I the while, the sole unbusy thing, Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.” (5-6) The narrator’s absolutely dark and negative opinion of himself provides for an incredibly dismal contrast against the pleasant and vivid “backdrop” of nature provided by his own observations.

In the second stanza, the narrator further develops his dark feelings while observing the beauty of nature.  When he sees the amaranths, he exclaims, “Bloom, O ye amaranths! Bloom for whom ye may, for me ye bloom not!” (9-10) The narrator sees the beauty surrounding him, and he acknowledges it, but because of his tenebrous views of himself as well as his depression, he fails to appreciate it.  He describes his appearance contrasting himself even more with nature, this time with the resplendent amaranths, “With lips un-brightened, wreathless brow…(11) The narrator further perpetuates his dark ideas when he refers to his depression as “the spells that drowse my soul?” (12)

The final two lines of the second stanza are remarkably thought provoking, as they force a reader to sit back and mull over life as well as life-goals and achievements.  “Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve, and Hope without an object cannot live.” (13-14) These final lines are, in my opinion, a very accurate deduction about life.  Working without promise for a reward, or justification of hard work, (hope) removes all the sweetness, (nectar) of a job well done.  If there is nothing to hope for, then the hope will eventually die, as one cannot simply hope for nothing.  The hope for something that proves the hard work was worth everything is generally the sole reason people work in the first place.  Some work for the hope to provide their family with a good life.  Some work for the hope to simply justify their life and make a name for themselves. Others work to maybe save up for that car they’ve been wanting.  Whatever the reason, people generally work in hope to achieve something.  However, without that object, or goal to achieve, there is nothing to hope for in the end.