Classic and Contemporary Poetry
IN A LODGING HOUSE, by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES Poet Analysis First Line: Get to thy room, a voice told me Last Line: And less thy hope than older men. Alternate Author Name(s): Davies, W. H. Subject(s): Hotels; Inns; Innskeepers; Motels; Boarding Houses | ||||||||
'Get to thy room,' a voice told me, 'From sottish lips in blasphemy'; And I said this: 'If I go there, Silence will send me to Despair; Then my weak What I Am will be Mocked by that one I wish to be; And leeches of regret will lie On me to palely stupefy, Close sucking at my heart's content' -- Yet I arose, to my room went. I knew't: scarce off my garments were When came the funeral gathering there To bury my dead hopes, as night By night to mock my Fancy's sight. There was a meeting-house adjoined, Where rich ones, rare and few of kind, Fed little children, came to cheer Parents with music sweet to hear. While now I grieved a real voice stole Into my room, and sang this soul To heaven from hell, though I knew well Silence would drift it back to hell When that sweet sound was heard no more. She sang to me a chanted shore Where seamaids' dripping tresses spread And made the rocks gold carpeted; She sang me back to childhood's way, To fields with lambs to see at play, And sheep that coughed like men. Again I saw quaint treasures of the main, Dried fishes, model ships, and shells, And coral stalks, and seaweed bells, In my grandfather's house. Ah! sweet To bear his boast through school and street -- 'Master of my own ship was I.' Again I heard his footsteps nigh, As to and fro the passage dark He walked, as though on his own bark; When granny, I, a sister, brother, Huddled under cosy cover. Now have I lived my score and ten, Yet less my hope than older men. No collier bowelled in the earth But Hope shall flush with rosy breath; No seaman drowning in the main, Nor traveller perished on a plain, Where all is silent, and the wind Prowls day and night in vain to find A living thing to make a moan, Or mountaineer was lost -- nay, none Of these but Hope makes less afraid, And flatters to some call for aid. Yet here lives one a score and ten, And less his hope then older men. I cared not for that singer's grace, If plain she were or fair of face, Or what her station, age might be -- She was a Voice, no more to me, But such an one, so sweet and fresh, I made no judgment on her flesh. It seemed a spirit there to float, Alighting with such raptured note That it must ease its heart of. Oh, Woman; thy sweet voice none others know As those to whom thou'rt seldom heard; Who have no flower to tend, no bird For pet, no child to play -- to give A cultured joy to ones that live In common lodging house. To hear A sweet voice is to me more dear Than sound of organs, bands, or bells. Discordant bursts lead out soft swells Of instrumental harmony -- Love's voice is from all discord free, Here darkly die, die darkly here, And lack e'en Friendship's common tear; A wreck of men, one score and ten, And less thy hope than older men. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOOKING FOR THE GULF MOTEL by RICHARD BLANCO WHAT THE MAGDALENE SAW by TIMOTHY LIU REMOVED AT THE MOMENT OF PERFECTION by TIMOTHY LIU MARRY AT A HOTEL, ANNUL ?ÇÖEM by HARRYETTE MULLEN THE KEEPER OF THE DEAD HOTEL by AGHA SHAHID ALI IN GEORGETOWN; HOLIDAY INN, WASHINGTON, D.C. by HAYDEN CARRUTH OUTSIDE ROOM SIX by LYNN EMANUEL A BIRD'S ANGER by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES |
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