Analysis of Mother and Poet
Elizabeth Barrett Browning 1806 (Kelloe) – 1861 (Florence)
Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east,
And one of them shot in the west by the sea.
Dead ! both my boys ! When you sit at the feast
And are wanting a great song for Italy free,
Let none look at me !
II.
Yet I was a poetess only last year,
And good at my art, for a woman, men said ;
But this woman, this, who is agonized here,
-- The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her head
For ever instead.
III.
What art can a woman be good at ? Oh, vain !
What art is she good at, but hurting her breast
With the milk-teeth of babes, and a smile at the pain ?
Ah boys, how you hurt ! you were strong as you pressed,
And I proud, by that test.
IV.
What art's for a woman ? To hold on her knees
Both darlings ! to feel all their arms round her throat,
Cling, strangle a little ! to sew by degrees
And 'broider the long-clothes and neat little coat ;
To dream and to doat.
V.
To teach them ... It stings there ! I made them indeed
Speak plain the word country. I taught them, no doubt,
That a country's a thing men should die for at need.
I prated of liberty, rights, and about
The tyrant cast out.
VI.
And when their eyes flashed ... O my beautiful eyes ! ...
I exulted ; nay, let them go forth at the wheels
Of the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise
When one sits quite alone ! Then one weeps, then one kneels !
God, how the house feels !
VII.
At first, happy news came, in gay letters moiled
With my kisses, -- of camp-life and glory, and how
They both loved me ; and, soon coming home to be spoiled
In return would fan off every fly from my brow
With their green laurel-bough.
VIII.
Then was triumph at Turin : `Ancona was free !'
And some one came out of the cheers in the street,
With a face pale as stone, to say something to me.
My Guido was dead ! I fell down at his feet,
While they cheered in the street.
IX.
I bore it ; friends soothed me ; my grief looked sublime
As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained
To be leant on and walked with, recalling the time
When the first grew immortal, while both of us strained
To the height he had gained.
X.
And letters still came, shorter, sadder, more strong,
Writ now but in one hand, `I was not to faint, --
One loved me for two -- would be with me ere long :
And Viva l' Italia ! -- he died for, our saint,
Who forbids our complaint."
XI.
My Nanni would add, `he was safe, and aware
Of a presence that turned off the balls, -- was imprest
It was Guido himself, who knew what I could bear,
And how 'twas impossible, quite dispossessed,
To live on for the rest."
XII.
On which, without pause, up the telegraph line
Swept smoothly the next news from Gaeta : -- Shot.
Tell his mother. Ah, ah, ` his, ' ` their ' mother, -- not ` mine, '
No voice says "My mother" again to me. What !
You think Guido forgot ?
XIII.
Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with Heaven,
They drop earth's affections, conceive not of woe ?
I think not. Themselves were too lately forgiven
Through THAT Love and Sorrow which reconciled so
The Above and Below.
XIV.
O Christ of the five wounds, who look'dst through the dark
To the face of Thy mother ! consider, I pray,
How we common mothers stand desolate, mark,
Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away,
And no last word to say !
XV.
Both boys dead ? but that's out of nature. We all
Have been patriots, yet each house must always keep one.
'Twere imbecile, hewing out roads to a wall ;
And, when Italy 's made, for what end is it done
If we have not a son ?
XVI.
Ah, ah, ah ! when Gaeta's taken, what then ?
When the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport
Of the fire-balls of death crashing souls out of men ?
When the guns of Cavalli with final retort
Have cut the game short ?
XVII.
When Venice and Rome keep their new jubilee,
When your flag takes all heaven for its white, green, and red,
When you have your country from mountain to sea,
When King Victor has Italy's crown on his head,
(And I have my Dead) --
XVIII.
What then ? Do not mock me. Ah, ring your bells low,
And burn your lights faintly ! My country is there,
Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow :
My Italy 's THERE, with my brave civic Pair,
To disfranchise despair !
XIX.
Forgive me. Some women b
Scheme | ABABB CXDXDD CEFEFF GHIHIA BJKJKK GLMLBM GANXNN GBOBOO BPQPQQ XRSRSS BTATFF BUVUXV BWXWXX GYZYZZ G1 W1 WW G2 3 2 3 3 GBDBDD GXTXTT BB |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11111101001 01111001101 1111111101 011001111001 11111 1 111011011 01111101011 1110111101 01101111001 11001 1 11101011111 11111111001 101111001101 11111101111 011111 1 11101011101 11011111101 11001011101 0101101101 11011 1 11111111101 11011011111 101001111111 1111001001 01011 1 01111111001 101011111101 101001111001 111101111111 11011 1 11101101101 111011101001 111101101111 0011111001111 111101 1 1110110111 01111101001 101111111011 11011111111 111001 1 11111111101 101011001101 1110101101001 101101011111 101111 1 01011101011 11101111111 11111111111 01010100111101 1011001 1 11011111001 10101110111 111001111111 0110100101 111101 1 1101110101 1100111101 111011111110111 11111001111 111001 1 111110110110 11101001111 111010110010 1110101101 001001 1 11101111101 101111001011 11101011001 111101111101 011111 1 11111111011 111001111111 11001011101 0110011111111 111101 1 111111011 101101111101 1010111101111 10110101101 11011 1 1100111110 1111110111101 11111011011 111011001111 01111 1 11111111111 01111011011 01011101111 110011111101 1101 1 0111101 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 4,212 |
Words | 812 |
Sentences | 80 |
Stanzas | 19 |
Stanza Lengths | 5, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 2 |
Lines Amount | 109 |
Letters per line (avg) | 28 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 163 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 45 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 07, 2023
- 4:04 min read
- 79 Views
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"Mother and Poet" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 9 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/10241/mother-and-poet>.
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