A 1905 Postcard of Lake Champlain, Plattsburgh, N.Y., at sunrise

 Liana Herzog

In a world becoming increasingly fast-paced, I often worry that I’ve stopped being able to appreciate stillness. I am uncomfortable sitting in silence, my thoughts unoccupied by worries or plans. Morning Melody by Lucretia Maria Davidson reintroduced me to the comfort in stillness, the peace that comes from observing what is often overlooked and considered mundane. 

Written when she was only fifteen, Morning Melody is told from the perspective of the morning itself as it crosses over the land, awakening the world. The morning beckons a maiden to awake from her slumber, along with the rest of the world around her. 

I come in the breath of the waken’d breeze,
I kiss the flowers, and I bend the trees;
And I shake the dew, which hath fallen by night,
From its throne, on the lily’s pure bosom of white
(…)
Then awake thee, O maiden, I bid thee awake!

Lucretia Maria Davidson was born and died in Plattsburgh, New York, a month before her seventeenth birthday. Already I am older than she ever had the chance to be, and yet at her young age, she had the ability to transform a page in a way that many adults decades her senior could not. 

She is by far not the first to write about the morning, the sun, or the dew, but her choice to write from the perspective of the morning displays unique creativity that stands out to me. 

I grew up on the opposite side of the country as Davidson, and yet, the scenery she describes in Morning Melody sounds like home. Like me, she grew up surrounded by towering forests, mountains, and crystal blue lakes. This poem is the morning, it is watching the earth wake up, staring in wonder at how beautiful the world can be. 

I beam o’er the mountains, and come from on high:
When my gay purple banners are waving afar;
When my herald, gray dawn, hath extinguish’d each star:

These lines take me back to a backpacking trip I took a few years ago. I awoke one morning atop a peak in the cascades in complete darkness. I found a small rock to sit upon, and I slowly watched from my vantage point as the sun crept up the side of the mountain, a solid line distinguishing night from day. I began to hear birds chirping, and goats appeared on a distant peak. The flowers rose and bent towards the sun, as though the morning had said “When I smile on the woodlands, I bid thee awake!” 

I was fifteen years old on this trip, just as Lucretia was, and yet I was unable to put into words what I had seen as I watched the world awaken. Her ability to turn a feeling I had deemed indescribable into words I could share with others is special to me. 

As I get older I often find myself struggling to see the world in the same light I did when I was younger. Morning Melody takes me back to a simpler time, a time when I appreciated every rock and tree, every flower, and every gust of wind. 

In the latter half of the poem, Davidson describes the night as a world of silence, solitude, and sorrow.

Bearing on, in their bosoms, the children of light,
Who have fled from this dark world of sorrow and night;
When the lake lies in calmness and darkness, save where
The bright ripple curls, ‘neath the smile of a star;
When all is in silence and solitude here,
Then sleep, maiden, sleep! without sorrow or fear!

The morning encourages the maiden to sleep during this time, “When the lake lies in calmness and darkness, save where / The bright ripple curls, ‘neath the smile of a star;” but urges her to awaken when the rest of the world does. 

But when I steal silently over the lake,
Awake thee then, maiden, awake! oh, awake!

While this can be taken literally, I see this as a call to awaken from a more metaphorical slumber. I often forget to sit in stillness as I did when I was a kid, when I observe every little detail of the world around me. The world seems to move so quickly around me, and I often forget to pause and take it all in. It reminds me to awaken and appreciate the sunrise, the dew on the lawn, the clear blue skies. I often sleep through these morning sunrises after late nights studying, and I am reminded to pause and awaken both myself and my senses to appreciate the morning. It is as though I am the maiden being called to awaken, as though 200 years later she is speaking to me, reminding me not to sleep through the beauty around me. 

Lucretia Davidson was only on this earth for seventeen years, and she spent those years, despite repeated illness, choosing to see and appreciate the beauty around her. This poem reminds me that life is fleeting, and inspires me to do the same.

by: Elli Batchelor

Death, as a process and state of being, has always been a concept that has mystified and intrigued me. As a person who has never subscribed to any organized religion, I do not have a vision of an afterlife that brings me any semblance of comfort or sort of crutch to depend on when faced with the imminency of death. Thus, I have always been deeply infatuated with different interpretations of life’s conclusion, especially of what comes after, and I tend to gravitate towards media that includes a thematic exploration of this concept.

Dickinson does not shy away from death in her poetry, which is what makes her one of my favorite poets. “I Heard a Fly Buzz – When I Died” is a forever favorite of her work and one I often dwell on despite its relative simplicity. The poem begins with the following stanza:

I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –

The Stillness in the Room

Was like the Stillness in the Air –

Between the Heaves of Storm –

From the perspective of the person who passed, Dickinson imagines the transitional period between life and death. With so many potential directions for this concept, it is interesting that the focus is shifted to a fly, rather than something broader and more abstract. The presence of an annoying pest disturbing the solemnity of a funeral procession is both ironic and brings about a sense of mundanity, which I honestly find refreshing. Instead of focusing on the dramatics of death, it is simplistic and normalized. I have always especially liked the opening line’s juxtaposing statements, as there should be no sensation after death and the speaker’s death thus comes as a surprise. The matter-of-fact and casual tone contributes to this as well. I have always been a big proponent of normalizing death, and I am even in a class about it now, yet Dickinson does it in such an artful and effective way that leaves me in awe every time. The idea of stillness between “Heaves of Storm” also sticks with me no matter how many times I read it, since I imagine it as both the literal “calm before the storm” and the pause between labored breaths. As the speaker dies, they are no longer breathing and can only hear the fly’s buzz. I appreciate its attention to the sensory experience, so I can imagine myself taking the place of the dying person. 

The Eyes around – had wrung them dry –

And Breaths were gathering firm

For that last Onset – when the King

Be witnessed – in the Room –

I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away

What portion of me be

Assignable – and then it was

There interposed a Fly –

Here, Dickinson shifts her attention to the funeral’s visitors, who have finished grieving and are ready to depart. “The King” she references is likely God, and the funeralgoers await his presence in the room. Personally, I imagine this as the way society views dying, as an entirely solemn, dramatic process that involves the presence of a higher power or savior. Instead, a fly disrupts the peace and the speaker’s musings about their will. The fly taking the place of God in the room is just a little bit silly and is yet another tactic of de-glorifying death. I can almost feel the annoyance of the speaker, and for a poem about such a taboo topic, it feels like the perfect balance. It makes me wonder if I too will be cognizant of such things when I die and if I can be stirred by something as mundane as a pesky fly. 

With Blue – uncertain – stumbling Buzz –

Between the light – and me –

And then the Windows failed – and then

I could not see to see –

This last stanza is one of my favorites. I specifically adore the line, “With Blue – uncertain – stumbling Buzz”. It is really enjoyable to read aloud and the description finally qualifies the sound of the fly, to the point that I can picture the scene in my head. Yet, the descriptors are not typically associated with sound, which makes this especially interesting. Her signature dashes also mimic the uncertainty of the speaker and the fly, which makes the poem a sensory experience in multiple dimensions.  

Dickinson’s poems are instantly recognizable and I appreciate how she has truly carved out a distinct artistic voice for herself. However, what I appreciate most about this one is her ability to tackle something as widely stigmatized as death, and explore its ramifications in a beautifully casual way. As a lover of all things Gothic, I will always revisit this poem.

by Adriana Uldrick

Louisa May Alcott’s writing feels like home to me. This is fitting since most of her writing concerns the home, but the impact her words have on me goes beyond this. Her poem “A Song from the Suds” is a fantastic representation of the type of work she produces that gives me the warm fuzzies.

Queen of my tub, I merrily sing,
While the white foam raises high,
And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring,
And fasten the clothes to dry;
Then out in the free fresh air they swing,
Under the sunny sky.

The simple, straightforward language of this poem is the first reason why I love it so much. Because it is so easy to understand, it is easy for me to internalize and digest it. Reading this poem is like eating oatmeal in the way that it feels wholesome, comforting, and nourishing.

I wish we could wash from our hearts and our souls
The stains of the week away,
And let water and air by their magic make
Ourselves as pure as they;
Then on the earth there would be indeed
A glorious washing day!

Again, Alcott wastes no time in letting the reader know what’s going on or why she’s writing. This innocent desire to wash our hearts and souls just as we wash our laundry is undeniably adorable. Beyond this, Alcott simplifies and gives “magic” to the otherwise abstract and daunting task of purifying oneself. Though much of Alcott’s work has obviously religious overtones, I interpret the purification of this poem as independent from ideals of religious purification. Because the purification is just of “the week’s stains” (which I read as small things that stressed, hurt, or otherwise negatively affected you on a small scale) instead of the unbearable weight of sin for example, the hope that Alcott offers feels more realistic and achievable.

If achievable is not the right word to describe this hope, surely universal is. I appreciate the delicate balance between directness and ambiguity that Alcott creates with her choices of language. She is direct because of the simple language and lack of beating around the bush that I mentioned earlier, but ambiguous by not being specific about the “stains” are or what “pure” means.

In this stanza I also love what is almost a call to action, an encouragement for everyone to participate in this self-purification. It provides an altruistic perspective to bettering oneself and gives a bigger meaning to the little tasks that seem menial. For this day to be considered glorious again could hint at religion, but I think that it means glorious in the sense that it is overwhelmingly delightful…which is a remarkable feeling to encounter while doing the laundry.

Along the path of a useful life
Will heart’s-ease ever bloom;
The busy mind has no time to think
Of sorrow, or care, or gloom;
And anxious thoughts may be swept away
As we busily wield a broom.

What a perfect picture Alcott paints!! A life paved productivity and meaning lined by blooming flowers of “heart’s-ease” is all I could ever ask for.

I do love the first half of this poem, but the second half is particularly special to me…I feel like these last two stanzas are the most impactful. In fact, I think the poem could be summarized by the single line “The busy mind has no time to think”. The clever sweeping away of anxious thoughts by a broom is especially compelling to me because of my own struggles with anxiety, which I would take great pleasure in seeing turn into dust so I could sweep it up. Alcott makes the intangible tangible, which makes coping with any “stains” easier.

I am glad a task to me is given
To labor at day by day;
For it brings me health, and strength, and hope,
And I cheerfully learn to say-
“Head, you may think; heart, you may feel;
But hand, you shall work always!”

This stanza is relevant to what I mentioned earlier about how Alcott gives significance and appreciation to the otherwise menial and dull. This love for the things that many people, myself included, dread in our daily lives truly is magical and is so worthwhile.

Due in part to the simple language that I keep doting on, this poem is extraordinarily memorable. The tagline that Alcott provides at the end adds to the poem’s memorability, giving me a mantra to repeat to myself when my chores seem overwhelming or my work loses its appeal. Actually, this sentiment of Alcott has been with me since I first read Little Women eight years ago and because of the affinity I have for the novel (especially the opening chapter), the meaning of this poem is reinforced by nostalgia.

Even for readers who do not have this nostalgic connection though, I believe that the feeling the poem invokes is inevitable. Alcott tactfully relies on familiar concepts and such comfy, uplifting language that you can’t help but smile at.

Post by Haley Curtis

The poet I chose was Ralph Waldo Emerson since he always fascinated me in my high school literature class. I always found it weird to learn in class about a man who thinks the way we are learning is inferior to learning through nature. He thought teachers should turn to nature more than lectures and exams. He has multiple poems expressing how he is concerned that teachers have lost touch and the students do not learn but learn how to test. One of my favorite poems by Emerson is called “ Song of Nature” where he explains how experiencing nature allows growth in his life and his accomplishments rather than just focusing on facts. He focuses on the importance of understanding nature to understand all things since he states in this poem all things come from nature. By starting off the poem with the verse “ Mine are the night and morning” he already drew me in. I was curious as to what he was talking about since the beginning of the first verse felt like a second part of a thought. I quickly wanted to know what the night and morning were to him, was it his teachers? Was it how he knew all his facts? In the first stanza he uses near rhymes allowing for it to not become boring since the poem is very long by using a mix of near rhymes and rhymes it keeps the reader focused.  He toys with the idea that yes we have science but what about our imagination through viewing nature. In the second stanza he speaks of knowing he doesn’t know everything. By using words like “I hid”, “dumb” and “slumber I am Strong” by choosing this diction and saying he feels strong when he is resting or quiet it shows by knowing you know less you’ll try to learn. By using the phrase “Fount of Life” he is speaking of waters used for baptism saying he has a strong belief,  is learning something new or even feeling reborn. We know he feels strongly about this since he ends this stanza with the word “deluge”. Emerson always uses very strong diction instead of flowery language to show emotion. He talks about a wreath he has been making for centuries making me think he is speaking of all the knowledge he wants to teach or to show off. He thinks people have been so focused on facts for a long time through words like “centuries” and “a thousand summers” showing this way of life of just fact based knowledge has been happening longer than he’s been alive. I love how he describes nature to describe his own being. A couple of examples are “my apples ripened well” showing his ideas  or his offspring are growing and have finally fully developed. This could mean he is watching his three children thrive through viewing both nature and prior knowledge. He speaks of the stars a lot here and I cannot tell because there are multiple and broken if he is relating them to past philosophers or each star being his own ideas and if broken it was an idea proven wrong. He talks about the gods and God, referring back to the creation and how everything was made. My favorite stanza is when he talks about how the tides will forever be moving but he questions his mortality. He speaks of “resting out west” but questions it. It feels powerful since I think he knows he has to die but since he hasn’t yet witnessed it in nature yet or felt that type of pain he can not imagine it yet. Emerson does not know why he feels like he cannot witness it all with how slow life is he will miss something. He uses repetition a lot through the format of a sentence or repetition of specific words that he feels are powerful. Though he loves to question what others believe to be fact he knows that his world will end once he dies but the elements will always stay. My favorite line is coincidentally at the end and it goes “My oldest force is good as new” I think it has multiple meanings. One meaning being no matter what he likes that he questions this world and everyday he has a new question. 

poem:

By Frederick B. MacNeil

Much of my life I’ve spent wandering through the bustle of local and foreign streets, the alleyways and offramp drone blurring together into a cacophony of blistering light and noise. I would wander, weave, and bumble aimlessly through the thrall of society as if a lost gull circling for a nesting place on some pebble-ridden beachfront, only to be stopped by the marks and boundaries of real estate developers and McMansions. Disillusionment with industrialized society is not an issue unique to me, as many young thinkers, writers, and self-diagnosed philosophers have struggled with this same dulled sense of belonging in the post-industrial world. But, in my experience, no such literary piece better describes this feeling, or lack of feeling, than “Good-bye” by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

“GOOD-BYE, proud world! I’m going home:

Thou art not my friend, and I’m not thine.

Long through thy weary crowds I roam;

A river-ark on the ocean brine,

Long I’ve been tossed like the driven foam;

But now, proud world! I’m going home.”

When Emerson speaks to the reader, asserting at once that there, in fact, is a home for men like him, a home far away from the bustle of commodified life, I find myself emblazoned with longing. It is as if he is reaching across time and space to pluck at my own heartstrings, beckoning his brothers and sisters in disillusionment to follow his steps to a home they have long forgotten. Waldo sets himself apart from the “proud” world, a world he has failed to proselytize himself to, a world which is as much his enemy as he is it.

“ Good-bye to Flattery’s fawning face;

To Grandeur with his wise grimace;

To upstart Wealth’s averted eye;

To supple Office, low and high;

To crowded halls, to court and street;

To frozen hearts and hasting feet;

To those who go, and those who come;

Good-bye, proud world! I’m going home.”

Though born much before me and my contemporary issues, Emerson displays a unique understanding of the emotional impact of societal pressure, the pressure to be valuable in some credible and material sense. Emerson doesn’t shy away from rejecting the concept of wealth, status, and showmanship, even if self-made; rather, he embraces a value based on a slow, warm appreciation for the world around him. Rather than just rushing through life with the stone-cold efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Emerson verbalizes his view of the modern world as one defined by falsities, flattery, and frigidness. A world in which people “come and go,” always rushing from one goal to another, never stopping or slowing to simply experience the gift of consciousness as a blessing in itself. But, Emerson does not allow his disillusionment with this reality to rob him of the excitement and gaiety of returning to a more divine way of life; rather, exclaiming and wishing a hearted goodbye to this reality without malice or ill intent.

“I am going to my own hearth-stone,

Bosomed in yon green hills alone,–

A secret nook in a pleasant land,

Whose groves the frolic fairies planned;

Where arches green, the livelong day,

Echo the blackbird’s roundelay,”

And vulgar feet have never trod

A spot that is sacred to thought and God.

Much of my own childhood was spent reading stories of fairies and ancient groves, daydreaming, and naively believing that one day I would be swept away by Peter Pan or Titania, gifted to some far-off magical world of joy and adventure. But as time passed, as time does, this world starkly departed from my heart and dreams as the reality of adult life became apparent. However, Emerson seems to have never lost faith in this magical world, believing it is as material as the dull march of the modern world he mentioned previously. I feel that Emerson does not mean this literally, but rather he is recounting this same dream, returning to a more pure form of living, one connected with nature and the simplicity of life, to a place in his own mind “that is sacred to thought and God”.

“O, when I am safe in my sylvan home,

I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;

And when I am stretched beneath the pines,

Where the evening star so holy shines,

I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,

At the sophist schools and the learned clan;

For what are they all, in their high conceit,

When man in the bush with God may meet?”

This final stanza really stands out to me, as the typical poetic romanticism lords over the value of sophic thought and the classical world as the ultimate form of man; Emerson rather rejects this. Valuing, above all else, one’s connection with nature. The simplest of connections, and one that is free from the barrier to entry of intellectualism or status. For him, the closest place to God is his natural kingdom—a kingdom ruled by parapets of moss, towers of wood, and ramparts of stone. When one spends nights lying down on the soft grass, listening to the sounds of the forest and watching the twinkling of the stars above, they, at least for a moment, are able to escape from the bustle of industrialized life that so prevalently leads to disillusionment.

“Good-bye” offers you a solution to man’s disillusionment, a solution which, at its very least, works nicely for me.

A home in my childhood neighborhood, now returning to nature. 

By Isabella Gandy

One of my favorite poems that has stuck with me is “The Light of Stars” written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and published in 1838. This poem has stood out to me because I think the message of finding the good in life even if it is not going the way you expected it to be is an important lesson to learn. I believe that most people and I tend to get upset when something goes wrong in our life. The unpredictable nature of life can cause people to develop a pessimistic outlook especially when it feels like you are not exactly where you want to be in your own life. To me I think this poem perfectly emphasizes the importance of realizing that there is always something good in life you just have to have the right perspective to see the good around you. It is a poem that illustrates how overcoming obstacles thrown at you can lead to success.

In the first two stanzas of the poem Longfellow illustrates the vast dark nothingness as by using imagery of a night sky. The “cold light of stars” was the only source of light peeking through the dark sky. Being at a point in life where it appears that everything is going downhill is similar to the idea of a dark sky that has the tiniest amount of light in it.

The Red Planet Mars is used as an image of strength in the poem. The planet gets personified into this powerful celestial being that symbolizes strength. The fifth stanza ends with, “thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, And I am strong again”, in other words suggesting how the speaker got this inspiration to overcome any pain or obstacles. I think it is interesting for Longfellow to have chosen to use a planet as a means of inspiration, but it works as it shows that truly people can find inspiration anywhere in their life. Specifically choosing Mars as his planet was a brilliant choice as it has many meanings which enables a wide variety of possibilities for the audience to connect. To some it is considered an ancient Roman deity while others may look at it as a celestial body.

The last two stanzas of the poem acknowledge how universal it is to experience challenging points in life. Longfellow connects his own personal experiences of hopelessness to his audience by explaining how it is a common part of life to have these bumps in the road. He then clearly emphasizes the importance of overcoming any suffering or obstacles. Illustrating the transition from this low point to the sense of strength after you have overcome it as a, “sublime a thing”. The poem wraps up by depicting the evolution of suffering to strength.

As someone who would get caught up worrying over things that went wrong this poem has provided such a fresh outlook on life. Instead of being consumed by stress over matters that have not gone according to plan I am choosing to let them go in order to make space for new opportunities. I am focusing more on the future rather than the past as the future is what enables more inspiration to take place. To me this poem is inspirational as it connects everyone by acknowledging the human experience of hopelessness that occurs throughout life but depicts how when that hopelessness is overcome the result is worth the struggle. Longfellow wrote this poem to encourage people not to give up even if life does get hard because there will always be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Night sky illuminated by the stars.

By Meghan Merlino

The Vampire by James Clerk Maxwell

I thoroughly enjoy this poem because it feels karmic to me. Initially, the knight introduced seems altruistic and genuine and it feels like a love story where the knight saves the woman and lives happily ever after with her. However, we learn that he did wrong by the vampire in the past or a past life and ironically, he doesn’t save her but instead she kills him. To me it seems though the knight is not so noble but rather egotistical and possibly broke her heart in the past and betrayed her somehow that caused her soul to die. So now he must face the same consequences she had to. 

In classic vampire fashion, she is portrayed as this beautiful woman “so bright and fair” with golden hair, which is what draws him to her possibly revealing his superficial nature. I believe there may also be a connection in the type of tree she is sitting under. He passes birch trees and others, however she is sitting under a willow tree. Willow trees symbolize hardship and loss, as well as rebirth which would be interesting if that was intentional because the vampire is “reborn” after her mortal life ended. As a mortal who went through this heartbreak, she lost a love and probably herself for a while thereafter. I recently went through a pretty tragic heartbreak myself about 2 months ago and I would undoubtedly describe it as the hardest loss of my life but it taught me self love, and I consider that a rebirth.

Vampires also relish in the misery of others which I thinkis quite literal here- I think as his former lover she wants to see him suffer. It is also inferred at the end when the waves are described as sea foam white with the boat “dancing” atop them that a storm has brewed, which is foreshadowing the demise that is about to happen to him. 

Since historically vampires represent things that detract from life it is possible it is inferring that vanity and betrayal both have this effect. I for one believe this statement to be true. It’s so easy to judge based off of superficiality but a lot of times it’s deceiving. Many do not show their true colors on the surface and it is easy to be deceived when you have an idealistic view of someone or that is the only side they show you. I also think betrayal is one of the worst actions to exist – it causes such deep hurt for the victim and shame / guilt for the perpetrator. 

I personally love that the knight has to suffer because of the wrong he has done, and it’s pertinent to real life. At 28, as someone who has been hurt quite a few times I do believe that when you cause detriment you will learn your own lesson the hard way, sometimes requiring you to be hurt in a similar way. Selfishly, I have definitely wanted for exes that have hurt me to feel remorse and anguish afterward. 

I read that Maxwell wrote this poem at 15 which most likely disproves the deep meaning behind love and suffering – at 15 I think it’s limited how much you can actually know about love. Meaning this could either be inspiration from a young love or because vampires had a large popularity at the time the poem was written. In any case, karmic cycles will complete themselves.

The Haunted Palace

By Edgar Allan Poe

In the greenest of our valleys

By good angels tenanted,

Once a fair and stately palace—

Radiant palace—reared its head.

In the monarch Thought’s dominion,

It stood there!

Never seraph spread a pinion

Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,

On its roof did float and flow

(This—all this—was in the olden

Time long ago)

And every gentle air that dallied,

In that sweet day,

Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,

A wingèd odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,

Through two luminous windows, saw

Spirits moving musically

To a lute’s well-tunèd law,

Round about a throne where, sitting,

Porphyrogene!

In state his glory well befitting,

The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing

Was the fair palace door,

Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing

And sparkling evermore,

A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty

Was but to sing,

In voices of surpassing beauty,

The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,

Assailed the monarch’s high estate;

(Ah, let us mourn!—for never morrow

Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)

And round about his home the glory

That blushed and bloomed

Is but a dim-remembered story

Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley,

Through the red-litten windows see

Vast forms that move fantastically

To a discordant melody;

While, like a ghastly rapid river,

Through the pale door

A hideous throng rush out forever,

And laugh—but smile no more.

As a child, I possessed a peculiar favoritism for the numbers six and eight. They nestled comfortably in my mind, remaining the numbers I find myself most drawn to. Perhaps it sounds fanciful, but I firmly believe that this fascination, combined with my unending obsession with ghostly realms, led to my profound love for Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Haunted Palace.” Published in 1839, this mesmerizing poem consists of six stanzas, each containing eight lines—an intricate structure that adds to its enchantment and depth. Poe’s meticulous craftsmanship is evident in every line, strategically creating a narrative that unfolds with haunting beauty.

The poem begins by vividly picturing a vibrant valley full of greenery, captivating the imagination with its radiant beauty. Beneath this façade of splendor lies a darker truth, subtly hinted at by Poe’s masterful use of language. As the poem progresses, the tone shifts, and the once-joyous atmosphere gives way to an ominous sense of foreboding.

One of the most striking aspects of “The Haunted Palace” is its exploration of the passage of time and the inevitable decay of all things. The once beautiful palace, adorned with banners of yellow and gold, now stands cloaked in shadows, its former glory a distant memory. Yet, amidst this decay, a haunting beauty remains that captivates the soul—the echo of past splendor, preserved in the dimness of memory.

Poe’s skillful use of literary devices further enhances the poem’s evocative power. Through literary measures such as hyperbole, alliteration, enjambment, and rhyme, he delicately transports readers to a realm where beauty and gloom combine. Every word resonates with a sense of melancholy and fascination, inviting readers to delve deeper into the mysteries of the human psyche.

Central to the poem’s narrative is the tragic fate of the king and his palace, once symbols of power and majesty. Destroyed by evil forces, they now stand as a testament to the fragility of existence and the destructive power of darkness. Through this allegory of downfall and despair, Poe invites readers to confront their own fears and confrontations with human nature.

“The Haunted Palace” is more than just a poem; it is a portal to another world—a world where beauty and terror coexist in perfect harmony. It is a testament to Poe’s genius and his ability to plumb the depths of the human experience, revealing truths hidden in the shadows. For those brave enough to venture into its haunted halls, the poem offers a glimpse into the darkest parts of the soul.

As a child with a rapacious appetite for literature and a fascination with death, “The Haunted Palace” charmed my eager mind. It spoke to me in whispers of the supernatural and echoes of forgotten dreams. The palace, once a place of beauty, now stands as a somber reminder of the fragility of life and the inevitability of death. Yet, the poem’s appeal remains undiminished, drawing me back time and time again to unravel its mysteries anew.

My vision of the decaying Palace.

I Started Early – Took My Dog – by Emily Dickinson

I started Early – Took my Dog –

And visited the Sea –

The Mermaids in the Basement

Came out to look at me –

And Frigates – in the Upper Floor

Extended Hempen Hands –

Presuming Me to be a Mouse –

Aground – opon the Sands –

But no Man moved Me – till the Tide

Went past my simple Shoe –

And past my Apron – and my Belt

And past my Boddice – too –

And made as He would eat me up –

As wholly as a Dew

Opon a Dandelion’s Sleeve –

And then – I started – too –

And He – He followed – close behind –

I felt His Silver Heel

Opon my Ancle – Then My Shoes

Would overflow with Pearl –

Until We met the Solid Town –

No One He seemed to know –

And bowing – with a Mighty look –

At me – The Sea withdrew –

My affinity for this 1862 poem by Emily Dickinson is rooted in the way that she is able to move the reader through her poems. She builds tension and releases it in a poem both about control and eroticism.

The first stanza feels so innocent, a walk with her dog. She’s met with mystical creatures as they mesmerize her. She creates a simple yet visual world in such few words, comforting her reader and introducing us to what may be a soft poem.

But, in true Dickinson fashion, it’s not all that it seems. As she moves the reader to the second stanza, there she is met with war boats, unveiling a new tension. The threat of attack and her eventual capture. Here is where she really builds that tension, the men of the boats bringing “hempden hands” to tie her together.

In the third stanza, she resists, sure no man could move her. But, she becomes overtaken by the water, wetting her from sole to bodice. The way she writes this stanza gives room for the reader to really question what is happening, who the man is, and what the ocean represents. To me, it is both about the way that men try to control her and her natural desires. She never married and was known for resisting public courting so to assume that she is writing this as a rejection of the social standards of single women in the 1800s America is not a wild stretch. However, my understanding of this moment is not only of control but of desire and eroticism. Purity standards of the time insisted that women did not involve themselves physically with men and we see Dickinson resist temptation in this poem. However, it lasts until the tide moves up her leg. She is swallowed by desire and while not giving herself up to it, does not deny it entirely. The eroticism comes from the way she describes the water swallowing her slowly. I think this creates a really beautiful sense of tension and is such a smart metaphor for the sensations of sex and desire.

While she doesn’t fully give in to her sexual wants in the third stanza, the fourth stanza gives us a moment of release as she says, “I started too”. This signifies her release into the arms of the water, a man or person she wants to intimate with.

After this, is my favorite moment of the poem as a whole. The fifth stanza hits the climax of both the poem and the speaker. The image of the silver boot, following so close she can feel it on her ankle is a beautiful and understated way of describing the growth to sexual climax. That silver boot is not only the ocean but a metaphor for orgasm as her shoes fill with pearls as she reaches her climax. Here, the tension is fully broken between the speaker and the reader.

The poem finishes as the sea retreats, leaving Emily in its wake.

Dickinson’s Landlocked Home in Amherst, Mass

I think the reason that I am so drawn to this specific poem is how smart it is. Everything happening within it serves a purpose and the success of the poem would be extremely limited if an element was removed. I think that the choice to insert hyphens between many of the words creates a panting-like reading experience that mimics the panting of intimacy. I love her use of warships, a common motif of the time, to represent the coming risk that desire is related to. Her use of mysticism to separate herself from her speaker and to add an element of magic to the experience. I love that she does not frame herself as an impartial victim of the water, but resilient and eventually human enough to indulge.