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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

COMO by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER

Poet Analysis

First Line: THE LAKES LAY BRIGHT AS BITS OF BROKEN MOON
Last Line: WHY, WHO SHALL SAY BUT HE WAS DROWN'D?
The lakes lay bright as bits of broken moon
Just newly set within the cloven earth;
The ripen'd fields drew round a golden girth
Far up the steeps, and glittered in the noon;
And when the sun fell down, from leafy shore
Fond lovers stole in pairs to ply the oar;
The stars, as large as lilies, fleck'd the blue;
From out the Alps the moon came wheeling through
The rocky pass the great Napoleon knew.

A gala night it was, -- the season's prime.
We rode from castled lake to festal town,
To fair Milan -- my friend and I; rode down
By night, where grasses waved in rippled rhyme:
And so, what theme but love at such a time?
His proud lip curl'd the while with silent scorn
At thought of love; and then, as one forlorn,
He sigh'd; then bared his temples, dash'd with gray;
Then mock'd, as one outworn and well @3blase@1.

A gorgeous tiger lily, flaming red, --
So full of battle, of the trumpets blare,
Of old-time passion, uprear'd its head.
I gallop'd past. I lean'd. I clutch'd it there
From out the stormy grass. I held it high,
And cried: "Lo! this to-night shall deck her hair
Through all the dance. And mark! the man shall die
Who dares assault, for good or ill design,
The citadel where I shall set this sign."

O, she shone fairer than the summer star,
Or curl'd sweet moon in middle destiny;
More fair than sun-morn climbing up the sea,
Where all the loves of Adriana are. . . .
Who loves, who truly loves, will stand aloof:
The noisy tongue makes most unholy proof
Of shallow passion. . . . All the while afar
From out the dance I stood and watched my star,
My tiger lily borne, an oriflamme of war.

Adown the dance she moved with matchless grace.
The world -- my world -- moved with her. Suddenly
I question'd whom her cavalier might be?
'Twas he! His face was leaning to her face!
I clutch'd my blade; I sprang, I caught my breath, --
And so, stood leaning cold and still as death.
And they stood still. She blushed, then reach'd and tore
The lily as she passed, and down the floor
She strew'd its heart like jets of gushing gore. . . .

'Twas he said heads, not hearts were made to break;
He taught her this that night in splendid scorn.
I learn'd too well. . . . The dance was done, ere morn
We mounted -- he and I -- but no more spake. . . .
And this for woman's love! My lily worn
In her dark hair in pride, to then be torn
And trampled on, for this bold stranger's sake!. . .
Two men rode silent back toward the lake;
Two men rode silent down -- but only one
Rode up at morn to meet the rising sun.

The red-clad fishers row and creep
Below the crags as half asleep,
Nor ever make a single sound.
The walls are steep,
The waves are deep;
And if a dead man should be found
By these same fishers in their round,
Why, who shall say but he was drown'd?



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