Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE LAMP, by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: She couldn't bring herself to bar the door Last Line: Smiling, she fell asleep. | ||||||||
She couldn't bring herself to bar the door -- And him on the wrong side of it. Nevermore She'd hear his footstep on the threshold-stone... "You're not afraid to lie all night alone, And Jim but newly drowned?" they'd asked: and she Had turned upon her neighbours wonderingly. "Afraid of what?" she said. "Afraid of him"; The neighbours answered. "Me -- afraid of Jim! And after all these years!" she cried -- "and he -- How can you think that he'd bring harm to me? You know him better, surely, even you! And I ..." Then they had left her, for they knew Too well that any word that they could say Would help her nothing. When they'd gone away, Leaving her to her trouble, she arose, And, taking from the kist his Sunday clothes, Folded so neatly, kept so carefully In camphor, free of moth, half-absently She shook them out, and hung them up to air Before the fire upon his high-backed chair: And then when they were aired she folded them Carefully, seam to seam and hem to hem, And smoothing them with tender hands, again She laid them in the kist where they had lain Six days a week for hard on forty year... Ay, forty year they'd shared each hope and fear -- They two, together -- yet she might not tend With loving hands his body in the end. The sea had taken him from her. And she -- She could do nothing for him now. The sea Had taken him from her. And nevermore Might she do anything for him... The door Flapped in the wind. She shut and snecked it tight, But did not bolt it. Then she set a light In the white-curtained window, where it shone As clearly as on each night that he had gone Out with the boats in all that forty year, And each night she had watched it burning clear, Alone and wakeful ... and, though lonelier, She'd lie to-night as many a night she'd lain On her left side, with face turned towards the pane, So that, if she should wake, at once she'd see If still her beacon-light burned steadily, Feeling that, maybe, somewhere in the night Of those dark waters he could see the light Far-off and very dim, a little spark Of comfort burning for him in the dark, And, even though it should dwindle from his sight, It seemed to her that he must feel the light Burning within his heart, the light of home... From those black cruel waters sudden foam Flashed as she gazed; and with a shuddering stir, As though cold drowning waves went over her, She stood a moment gasping. Then she turned From the bright window where her watch-light burned, And, taking off her clothes, crept into bed To see if she could sleep. But when her head Touched the cold pillow, such hot restlessness She felt, she'd half-a-mind to rise and dress Each moment, as she tossed from side to side. The bed to-night seemed very big and wide And hard and cold to her, though a hot ache Held her whole body tingling wide awake Turning and tossing half the endless night. Then quieter she lay, and watched the light Burning so steadily, until the flame Dazzled her eyes, and golden memories came Out of the past to comfort her. She lay Remembering, -- remembering that day Nigh twenty years since when she'd thought him drowned, And after all... She heard again the sound Of seas that swept a solid wall of green, Such seas as living eye had never seen, Over the rock-bound harbour, with a roar Rushing the beach, tossing against the door Driftwood and old cork-floats, slashing the pane With flying weed again and yet again, As toppling to disaster, sea on sea Beneath that crashing wind broke furiously Almost upon the very threshold-stone In white tumultuous thunder. All alone She watched through that long morn: too much afraid To stir or do a hand's turn, her heart prayed One prayer unceasingly, though not a word Escaped her lips; till in a lull she heard A neighbour call out that the Morning Star Had gone ashore somewhere beyond Hell Scar, Hard by the Wick, and all ... and then the roar Drowned everything... And how she reached the door She never knew. She found herself outside Suddenly face to face with that mad tide, Battling for breath against a wind that fought Each inch with her, as she turned North, and caught Her bodily, and flung her reeling back A dozen times before she reached the track That runs along the crag-top to the Head. Bent double, still she struggled on, half-dead, For not a moment could she stand upright Against that wind, striving with all her might To reach the Wick. She struggled through that wind As through cold clinging water, deaf and blind; And numb and heavy in that icy air Her battered body felt, as though, stark-bare, She floundered in deep seas. Once in a lull Flat on her face she fell. A startled gull Rose skirling at her; and with burning eyes She lay a moment, far too scared to rise, Staring into a gully, black as night, In which the seething waters frothing white Thundered from crag to crag, and baffled leapt A hundred feet in air. She'd nearly stept Into that gully. Just in time the wind Had dropt. One moment more, and headlong, blind, She'd tumbled into that pit of death ... and Jim, If he were living yet... The thought of him Startled her to her feet: and on once more Against a fiercer wind along the shore She struggled with set teeth, and dragging hair Drenched in the sousing spray that leapt in air Spinning and hissing, smiting her like hail. Then when it almost seemed that she must fail To reach the Wick, alive or dead, she found That she was there already. To the ground She sank, dead-beat. Almost too faint and weak To lift her head, her wild eyes sought the creek; But there she saw no sign of boat or man -- Only a furious smother of seas that ran Along the slanting jetty ceaselessly. Groping for life, she searched that spumy sea For sail or sign in vain: then knew no more... Till she was lifted by strong arms that bore Her safely through the storm, lying at rest Without a care upon her husband's breast Unquestioning, till she reached home, content To feel his arms about her, as he bent Over her tenderly and breathed her name. And then she heard how, back from death, he came Unscathed to her, by some strange mercy thrown Alive almost upon his threshold-stone: When, hearing where she'd gone, he'd followed her Hot-foot... The breath of dawn began to blur The shining pane with mist ... And nevermore His foot would follow her along that shore. The sea had taken him from her, at last, Had taken him to keep... Then from the past She waked with eyes that looked beyond the light, Still burning clearly, into the lingering night, Black yet, beyond the streaming window-pane Down which big glistening drops of gentle rain Trickled until they dazzled her; and she lay Again remembering -- how ere break of day When she was young she'd had to rise and go Along the crag-top some five mile or so, With other lads and lasses, to Skateraw To gather bait... Again her young eyes saw Those silent figures with their creels, dead-black Against the stars, climbing the sheer cliff-track In single file before her, or quite bright As suddenly the light-house flashed its light Full on them, stepping up out of the night On to the day-bright crag-top -- kindling white, A moment, windy hair and streaming grass. Again she trudged, a drowsy little lass, The youngest of them all, across dim fields By sleeping farms and ruined roofless bields, Frightened by angry dogs that, roused from sleep, Yelped after them, or by a startled sheep That scurried by her suddenly, while she Was staring at a ship's lights out at sea, With dreaming eyes, or counting countless stars That twinkled bright beyond the jagged scars: Or stumbled over a slippery shingle-beach Beneath her creel, and shuddered at the screech And sudden clamour of wings that round her flapped. Again she felt that cruel cold. Though hapt In the big shawl, the raw wind searched her through Till every bone ached. Then once more she knew Brief respite when at last they reached Skateraw And rested till the dawn. Again she saw Those dark groups sitting quiet in the night Awaiting the first blink of morning-light, To set to work gathering the bait, while she Sang to them as they sat beside the sea. They always made her sing, for she'd a voice When she was young, she had, and such a choice Of words and airs by heart: and she was glad To turn a tune for any lass or lad Who'd ask her, always glad to hear them say: "Come, Singing Sally, give us 'Duncan Gray,' 'The De'il among the Tailors,' 'Elsie Marley,' 'The Keel-Row' or 'The Wind among the Barley'"; And always gladdest when 'twas Jim would ask. Again, as they would settle to their task Of gathering clammy mussels, that cold ache Stole through her bones. It seemed her back must break Each time she stooped, or lifted up her head, Though still she worked with fingers raw and red Until her creel was filled. But, toiling back, Staggering beneath her load along the track, Jim would come up with her and take her creel And bear it for her, if she'd sing a reel To keep their hearts up as they trudged along. Half-numb with sleep, she'd start a dancing-song, And sing, the fresh wind blowing in her face, Until the dancing blood began to race Through her young body, and her heart grew light, Forgetting all the labours of the night... Once more she walked light-foot to that gay air, The wind of morning fresh on face and hair, A girl again... And Jim, 'twas always he Who bore her burden for her... Quietly With eyes upon the golden lamp she lay, While, all unseen of her, the winter day Behind the dim wet pane broke bleak and cold. She seemed to look upon a dawn of gold That kindled every dancing wave to glee As she walked homeward singing by the sea, As she walked homeward with the windy stir Fresh in her flying hair, and over her Jim leant -- young lucky Jim -- a kindly lad Taking the creel; and her girl's heart was glad As... ... clasped within each other's arms, the deep Closed over them... Smiling, she fell asleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BETWEEN THE LINES by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON BREAKFAST by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON FLANNAN ISLE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON FOR G. by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON GERANIUMS by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON LAMENT by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON RETREAT by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON RUPERT BROOKE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON THE GORSE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON THE ICE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON |
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