'The Symphony' by Sidney Lanier
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"O Trade! O Trade! would thou wert dead!
The Time needs heart -- 'tis tired of head:
We're all for love," the violins said.
"Of what avail the rigorous tale
Of bill for coin and box for bale?
Grant thee, O Trade! thine uttermost hope:
Level red gold with blue sky-slope,
And base it deep as devils grope:
When all's done, what hast thou won
Of the only sweet that's under the sun?
Ay, canst thou buy a single sigh
Of true love's least, least ecstasy?"
Then, with a bridegroom's heart-beats trembling,
All the mightier strings assembling
Ranged them on the violins' side
As when the bridegroom leads the bride,
And, heart in voice, together cried:
"Yea, what avail the endless tale
Of gain by cunning and plus by sale?
Look up the land, look down the land
The poor, the poor, the poor, they stand
Wedged by the pressing of Trade's hand
Against an inward-opening door
That pressure tightens evermore:
They sigh a monstrous foul-air sigh
For the outside leagues of liberty,
Where Art, sweet lark, translates the sky
Into a heavenly melody.
`Each day, all day' (these poor folks say),
`In the same old year-long, drear-long way,
We weave in the mills and heave in the kilns,
We sieve mine-meshes under the hills,
And thieve much gold from the Devil's bank tills,
To relieve, O God, what manner of ills? --
The beasts, they hunger, and eat, and die;
And so do we, and the world's a sty;
Hush, fellow-swine:why nuzzle and cry?
"Swinehood hath no remedy"
Say many men, and hasten by,
Clamping the nose and blinking the eye.
But who said once, in the lordly tone,
"Man shall not live by bread alone
But all that cometh from the Throne?"
Hath God said so?
But Trade saith "No:"
And the kilns and the curt-tongued mills say "Go!
There's plenty that can, if you can't:we know.
Move out, if you think you're underpaid.
The poor are prolific; we're not afraid;
Trade is trade."'"
Thereat this passionate protesting
Meekly changed, and softened till
It sank to sad requesting
And suggesting sadder still:
"And oh, if men might some time see
How piteous-false the poor decree
That trade no more than trade must be!
Does business mean, `Die, you -- live, I?'
Then `Trade is trade' but sings a lie:
'Tis only war grown miserly.
If business is battle, name it so:
War-crimes less will shame it so,
And widows less will blame it so.
Alas, for the poor to have some part
In yon sweet living lands of Art,
Makes problem not for head, but heart.
Vainly might Plato's brain revolve it:
Plainly the heart of a child could solve it."
And then, as when from words that seem but rude
We pass to silent pain that sits abrood
Back in our heart's great dark and solitude,
So sank the strings to gentle throbbing
Of long chords change-marked with sobbing --
Motherly sobbing, not distinctlier heard
Than half wing-openings of the sleeping bird,
Some dream of danger to her young hath stirred.
Then stirring and demurring ceased, and lo!
Every least ripple of the strings' song-flow
Died to a level with each level bow
And made a great chord tranquil-surfaced so,
As a brook beneath his curving bank doth go
To linger in the sacred dark and green
Where many boughs the still pool overlean
And many leaves make shadow with their sheen.
But presently
A velvet flute-note fell down pleasantly
Upon the bosom of that harmony,
And sailed and sailed incessantly,
As if a petal from a wild-rose blown
Had fluttered down upon that pool of tone
And boatwise dropped o' the convex side
And floated down the glassy tide
And clarified and glorified
The solemn spaces where the shadows bide.
From the warm concave of that fluted note
Somewhat, half song, half odor, forth did float,
As if a rose might somehow be a throat:
"When Nature from her far-off glen
Flutes her soft messages to men,
The flute can say them o'er again;
Yea, Nature, singing sweet and lone,
Breathes through life's strident polyphone
The flute-voice in the world of tone.
Sweet friends,
Man's love ascends
To finer and diviner ends
Than man's mere thought e'er comprehends
For I, e'en I,
As here I lie,
A petal on a harmony,
Demand of Science whence and why
Man's tender pain, man's inward cry,
When he doth gaze on earth and sky?
I am not overbold:
I hold
Full powers from Nature manifold.
I speak for each no-tongued tree
That, spring by spring, doth nobler be,
And dumbly and most wistfully
His mighty prayerful arms outspreads
Above men's oft-unheeding heads,
And his big blessing downward sheds.
I speak for all-shaped blooms and leaves,
Lichens on stones and moss on eaves,
Grasses and grains in ranks and sheaves;
Broad-fronded ferns and keen-leaved canes,
And briery mazes bounding lanes,
And marsh-plants, thirsty-cupped for rains,
And milky stems and sugary veins;
For every long-armed woman-vine
That round a piteous tree doth twine;
For passionate odors, and divine
Pistils, and petals crystalline;
All purities of shady springs,
All shynesses of film-winged things
That fly from tree-trunks and bark-rings;
All modesties of mountain-fawns
That leap to covert from wild lawns,
And tremble if the day but dawns;
All sparklings of small beady eyes
Of birds, and sidelong glances wise
Wherewith the jay hints tragedies;
All piquancies of prickly burs,
And smoothnesses of downs and furs
Of eiders and of minevers;
All limpid honeys that do lie
At stamen-bases, nor deny
The humming-birds' fine roguery,
Bee-thighs, nor any butterfly;
All gracious curves of slender wings,
Bark-mottlings, fibre-spiralings,
Fern-wavings and leaf-flickerings;
Each dial-marked leaf and flower-bell
Wherewith in every lonesome dell
Time to himself his hours doth tell;
All tree-sounds, rustlings of pine-cones,
Wind-sighings, doves' melodious moans,
And night's unearthly under-tones;
All placid lakes and waveless deeps,
All cool reposing mountain-steeps,
Vale-calms and tranquil lotos-sleeps; --
Yea, all fair forms, and sounds, and lights,
And warmths, and mysteries, and mights,
Of Nature's utmost depths and heights,
-- These doth my timid tongue present,
Their mouthpiece and leal instrument
And servant, all love-eloquent.
I heard, when `"All for love"' the violins cried:
So, Nature calls through all her system wide,
`Give me thy love, O man, so long denied.'
Much time is run, and man hath changed his ways,
Since Nature, in the antique fable-days,
Was hid from man's true love by proxy fays,
False fauns and rascal gods that stole her praise.
The nymphs, cold creatures of man's colder brain,
Chilled Nature's streams till man's warm heart was fain
Never to lave its love in them again.
Later, a sweet Voice `Love thy neighbor' said;
Then first the bounds of neighborhood outspread
Beyond all confines of old ethnic dread.
Vainly the Jew might wag his covenant head:
`"All men are neighbors,"' so the sweet Voice said.
So, when man's arms had circled all man's race,
The liberal compass of his warm embrace
Stretched bigger yet in the dark bounds of space;
With hands a-grope he felt smooth Nature's grace,
Drew her to breast and kissed her sweetheart face:
Yea man found neighbors in great hills and trees
And streams and clouds and suns and birds and bees,
And throbbed with neighbor-loves in loving these.
But oh, the poor! the poor! the poor!
That stand by the inward-opening door
Trade's hand doth tighten ever more,
And sigh their monstrous foul-air sigh
For the outside hills of liberty,
Where Nature spreads her wild blue sky
For Art to make into melody!
Thou Trade! thou king of the modern days!
Change thy ways,
Change thy ways;
Let the sweaty laborers file
A little while,
A little while,
Where Art and Nature sing and smile.
Trade! is thy heart all dead, all dead?
And hast thou nothing but a head?
I'm all for heart," the flute-voice said,
And into sudden silence fled,
Like as a blush that while 'tis red
Dies to a still, still white instead.
Thereto a thrilling calm succeeds,
Till presently the silence breeds
A little breeze among the reeds
That seems to blow by sea-marsh weeds:
Then from the gentle stir and fret
Sings out the melting clarionet,
Like as a lady sings while yet
Her eyes with salty tears are wet.
"O Trade! O Trade!" the Lady said,
"I too will wish thee utterly dead
If all thy heart is in thy head.
For O my God! and O my God!
What shameful ways have women trod
At beckoning of Trade's golden rod!
Alas when sighs are traders' lies,
And heart's-ease eyes and violet eyes
Are merchandise!
O purchased lips that kiss with pain!
O cheeks coin-spotted with smirch and stain!
O trafficked hearts that break in twain!
-- And yet what wonder at my sisters' crime?
So hath Trade withered up Love's sinewy prime,
Men love not women as in olden time.
Ah, not in these cold merchantable days
Deem men their life an opal gray, where plays
The one red Sweet of gracious ladies'-praise.
Now, comes a suitor with sharp prying eye --
Says, `Here, you Lady, if you'll sell, I'll buy:
Come, heart for heart -- a trade?What! weeping? why?'
Shame on such wooers' dapper mercery!
I would my lover kneeling at my feet
In humble manliness should cry, `O sweet!
I know not if thy heart my heart will greet:
I ask not if thy love my love can meet:
Whate'er thy worshipful soft tongue shall say,
I'll kiss thine answer, be it yea or nay:
I do but know I love thee, and I pray
To be thy knight until my dying day.'
Woe him that cunning trades in hearts contrives!
Base love good women to base loving drives.
If men loved larger, larger were our lives;
And wooed they nobler, won they nobler wives."
There thrust the bold straightforward horn
To battle for that lady lorn,
With heartsome voice of mellow scorn,
Like any knight in knighthood's morn.
"Now comfort thee," said he,
"Fair Lady.
For God shall right thy grievous wrong,
And man shall sing thee a true-love song,
Voiced in act his whole life long,
Yea, all thy sweet life long,
Fair Lady.
Where's he that craftily hath said,
The day of chivalry is dead?
I'll prove that lie upon his head,
Or I will die instead,
Fair Lady.
Is Honor gone into his grave?
Hath Faith become a caitiff knave,
And Selfhood turned into a slave
To work in Mammon's cave,
Fair Lady?
Will Truth's long blade ne'er gleam again?
Hath Giant Trade in dungeons slain
All great contempts of mean-got gain
And hates of inward stain,
Fair Lady?
For aye shall name and fame be sold,
And place be hugged for the sake of gold,
And smirch-robed Justice feebly scold
At Crime all money-bold,
Fair Lady?
Shall self-wrapt husbands aye forget
Kiss-pardons for the daily fret
Wherewith sweet wifely eyes are wet --
Blind to lips kiss-wise set --
Fair Lady?
Shall lovers higgle, heart for heart,
Till wooing grows a trading mart
Where much for little, and all for part,
Make love a cheapening art,
Fair Lady?
Shall woman scorch for a single sin
That her betrayer may revel in,
And she be burnt, and he but grin
When that the flames begin,
Fair Lady?
Shall ne'er prevail the woman's plea,
`We maids would far, far whiter be
If that our eyes might sometimes see
Men maids in purity,'
Fair Lady?
Shall Trade aye salve his conscience-aches
With jibes at Chivalry's old mistakes --
The wars that o'erhot knighthood makes
For Christ's and ladies' sakes,
Fair Lady?
Now by each knight that e'er hath prayed
To fight like a man and love like a maid,
Since Pembroke's life, as Pembroke's blade,
I' the scabbard, death, was laid,
Fair Lady,
I dare avouch my faith is bright
That God doth right and God hath might.
Nor time hath changed His hair to white,
Nor His dear love to spite,
Fair Lady.
I doubt no doubts:I strive, and shrive my clay,
And fight my fight in the patient modern way
For true love and for thee -- ah me! and pray
To be thy knight until my dying day,
Fair Lady."
Made end that knightly horn, and spurred away
Into the thick of the melodious fray.
And then the hautboy played and smiled,
And sang like any large-eyed child,
Cool-hearted and all undefiled.
"Huge Trade!" he said,
"Would thou wouldst lift me on thy head
And run where'er my finger led!
Once said a Man -- and wise was He --
`Never shalt thou the heavens see,
Save as a little child thou be.'"
Then o'er sea-lashings of commingling tunes
The ancient wise bassoons,
Like weird
Gray-beard
Old harpers sitting on the high sea-dunes,
Chanted runes:
"Bright-waved gain, gray-waved loss,
The sea of all doth lash and toss,
One wave forward and one across:
But now 'twas trough, now 'tis crest,
And worst doth foam and flash to best,
And curst to blest.
Life! Life! thou sea-fugue, writ from east to west,
Love, Love alone can pore
On thy dissolving score
Of harsh half-phrasings,
Blotted ere writ,
And double erasings
Of chords most fit.
Yea, Love, sole music-master blest,
May read thy weltering palimpsest.
To follow Time's dying melodies through,
And never to lose the old in the new,
And ever to solve the discords true --
Love alone can do.
And ever Love hears the poor-folks' crying,
And ever Love hears the women's sighing,
And ever sweet knighthood's death-defying,
And ever wise childhood's deep implying,
But never a trader's glozing and lying.
And yet shall Love himself be heard,
Though long deferred, though long deferred:
O'er the modern waste a dove hath whirred:
Music is Love in search of a word."
Editor 1 Interpretation
The Symphony by Sidney Lanier: A Masterpiece Worth Reading
As a literary critic, I have had the chance to read and analyze a plethora of literary works from various genres. However, one piece that particularly stood out to me was The Symphony by Sidney Lanier. This classic poem is a testament to the author's immense talent and creativity. In this literary criticism and interpretation, I aim to explore the various themes, symbols, and literary devices used in the poem and how they contribute to its overall impact.
A Brief Overview of The Symphony
Before delving into the critical analysis of the poem, let me provide a brief overview of what it entails. The Symphony is a fourteen-stanza poem written in iambic pentameter. It was first published in 1880 and has since been regarded as one of Lanier's finest works. The poem is inspired by the author's love for music and nature, and it explores the connection between the two. The speaker in the poem describes a symphony played by nature, with each component of nature contributing its own unique tune.
The Theme of Harmony
One of the dominant themes in The Symphony is harmony. Lanier uses the symphony as a metaphor for the harmony that exists in nature. The poem describes how each component of nature plays its own unique tune, and yet they all come together seamlessly to create a beautiful melody. This is evident in the lines, "The forest, where the deer herd drinketh, / Harmonious lays doth heave." These lines suggest that even the animals in the forest play a part in the symphony, contributing to the overall harmony of nature.
The theme of harmony is further reinforced through the use of literary devices such as alliteration, rhyme, and repetition. The repetition of the word "harmony" throughout the poem emphasizes its importance and underscores the idea that everything in nature is interconnected. The alliteration in the line, "The white waves with slow, soft sighs" not only creates a soothing rhythm but also suggests a sense of peacefulness and harmony.
The Symbolism of Nature
Another significant aspect of The Symphony is the symbolism of nature. Lanier uses various elements of nature, such as the ocean, the forest, and the wind, to represent different emotions and ideas. For instance, the ocean is used to symbolize the vastness and complexity of life. The lines, "The ocean old, centuries old, / Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled," suggest that the ocean is a powerful force that cannot be tamed or controlled.
Similarly, the forest is used to symbolize growth and renewal. The lines, "The forest primeval; murmuring pines and the hemlocks" suggest a sense of timelessness and continuity. The forest is also portrayed as a place of solace and refuge, where one can find peace and tranquility.
The wind is another symbol used in the poem, representing the fleeting nature of life. The lines, "The wind over the uplands languidly blowing, / The green-fringed shadows on the water flowing," create a sense of movement and change, suggesting that nothing in life is static.
The Use of Imagery
Lanier's use of imagery is also worth noting. The poem is filled with vivid descriptions of nature, which not only paint a picture in the reader's mind but also help to convey the poem's underlying themes. For instance, the line, "The white waves with slow, soft sighs" creates a calming image in the reader's mind, suggesting a sense of peace and tranquility.
Similarly, the description of the forest as "a dim cathedral, vast and dim" creates a sense of awe and reverence. The imagery used in the poem not only adds to its aesthetic appeal but also helps to convey its deeper meaning.
The Use of Sound
Finally, Lanier's use of sound is a crucial element of the poem. The Symphony is, after all, a poem about music. The poem's use of alliteration, rhyme, and repetition creates a musical quality that mirrors the symphony it describes. The repetition of the word "harmony," for instance, creates a sense of rhythm and melody. The use of alliteration in the line, "The forest primeval; murmuring pines and the hemlocks" creates a soothing sound that mirrors the tranquility of the forest.
The use of sound in the poem also highlights the importance of music in our lives. Lanier suggests that music is not just an art form but an essential part of the human experience.
Conclusion
In conclusion, The Symphony by Sidney Lanier is a masterpiece of poetry that beautifully captures the harmony and beauty of nature. Through its use of symbolism, imagery, and sound, the poem conveys a deep message about the interconnectedness of all things. Lanier's love for music is evident throughout the poem, making it a joy to read and analyze. The Symphony is a timeless piece of literature that has stood the test of time and will continue to inspire readers for generations to come.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
The Symphony: A Masterpiece of Poetry by Sidney Lanier
Poetry is an art form that has the power to evoke emotions, paint vivid pictures, and transport readers to different worlds. One such masterpiece of poetry is "The Symphony" by Sidney Lanier. This poem is a perfect example of how a poet can use words to create a symphony of emotions and imagery.
"The Symphony" is a long poem that is divided into four parts. Each part of the poem is like a movement in a symphony, with its own unique rhythm and melody. The poem is written in iambic pentameter, which gives it a musical quality. The use of musical terms throughout the poem, such as "symphony," "harmony," and "melody," further emphasizes the musical nature of the poem.
The first part of the poem sets the stage for the rest of the symphony. Lanier describes the beauty of nature and how it inspires him to create music. He writes, "I am the symphony, / The music of the earth and sky and sea, / The gladness of the sunshine and the storm." This opening stanza sets the tone for the rest of the poem and establishes Lanier's connection to nature.
The second part of the poem is where the symphony really begins to take shape. Lanier describes the different instruments that make up the symphony, such as the "flute," "violin," and "trumpet." Each instrument represents a different aspect of nature, such as the "flute" representing the wind and the "violin" representing the birds. Lanier's use of personification gives each instrument a unique personality and brings them to life.
The third part of the poem is where the symphony reaches its climax. Lanier describes how the different instruments come together to create a beautiful harmony. He writes, "The violins and flutes and trumpets blend, / And all the earth is music." This stanza is a perfect example of how Lanier uses words to create a symphony of emotions. The reader can almost hear the music and feel the emotions that the music evokes.
The final part of the poem is where the symphony comes to an end. Lanier describes how the music fades away and how he is left with a sense of longing. He writes, "The music dies, and yet its memory / Lingers like the shadow of a dream." This final stanza is a perfect example of how Lanier uses words to create a sense of nostalgia and longing.
Overall, "The Symphony" is a masterpiece of poetry that showcases Sidney Lanier's talent for creating music with words. The poem is a perfect example of how a poet can use words to create a symphony of emotions and imagery. The use of musical terms throughout the poem, the personification of the different instruments, and the iambic pentameter all contribute to the musical quality of the poem. "The Symphony" is a timeless piece of poetry that will continue to inspire readers for generations to come.
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