“Sonnet”
The title of this poem is also its form. The sonnet is considered the ideal and iconic form of romantic poetry that expresses feelings of profound emotion. And, indeed, the first-person tone of this particular love sonnet paints a portrait of a person absolute besotted with the idealization of another. It is comprised of a series of imagery which convey this almost obsessive love. The speaker describes the object of affection in terms one might identify with a stalker, suggesting no road can separate them and no cup will exist which both have not sipped from. But then around the middle of the poem, things take a turn and the imagery become more than a little perverse: “You are the thorn of cactus in my thought” and “You are the tameless tangle of my lot.” The full emotional gamut of an obsessive love is realized by the end when the speaker verges on loss of control and confesses to having loved and loathed, sought out and condemned the other. And yet, the final thought reveals that this complexity and confusion is still good: “There seems to me no joy where you are not.”
“To-Day”
A short work of verse comprised of seven couplets. It is epigrammatic in construction and essentially becomes loosely connected imagery in support of the title. The opening line casts “to-day” (always spelled as hyphenated) as always lonely become, of course, with the setting of the sun it will become to-morrow. The present day is also compared to an entity which rises from between two mountains as well as something that lies unseen deep in the dark abyss of the ocean.
“To Poetry”
Although lacking the epigrammatic structural foundation of the previous poem, “To Poetry” carries with the same thematic conception as “To-Day” in that it is constructed of images which metaphorically describe the writing of verse. The opening lines sets the stage by suggesting that poetry is the lady which invades dreams, an enemy to time spent working, playing or resting. Poetry is situated as a loyal friend and the last lover to leave.
“Sonnet: I Did Not See”
Again, Lewin engages the sonnet form to write a love poem, but this one is much more bittersweet than the one titled simply “Sonnet.” The title here, “I Did Not See” actually rather gives the game away. It is a poem about regrets and possibilities engendered by the age-old reality of not having foresight. The speaker begins with a litany of not just things unseen. It is a tour-de-force of sensory imagery that touches upon multiple means of perceiving the world: the beauty of a red shed goes unnoticed her eyes, a cuckoo’s song goes unheard, the passing of a swallow takes place without any kind of sensory recognition. Even the realization that midsummer was over and done with goes without being apprehended. Regrets expressed about what went unperceived is tied directly to the passage of time. What she did not see or hear or feel is growing older. The second half of the sonnet is then structured as list of what might have been had perception but better more keen and attuned, ending on the melancholic image of not fully having experienced “loves last burning kiss” for what it was.
“…Another Man’s Poison”
Another poem about remembrance of things past. The speaker remembers being dressed to the nines and being blinded by romantic folly. The romantic folly turns out to be that though her gown shimmered and the sun haloed behind her hair and though she was standing next to “him” so closely that she couldn’t get much closer the reality is that “He did not see me!” She asserts this did not matter, that she didn’t even care that this was the situation. This studied indifference is encapsulated in the imagery of a nonsense phrase that repeats throughout the poem: “Oh! fol-de-rol-ray-do.” She sings to him, but sees plainly that he is not listening. And still she professes not to care with the verse coming to an end on the final “fol-de-rol-ray-do.”
“Tumult”
Another sonnet and another tale of romantic love. The poem opens with the speaker asking “Why is the heart so mad, when curbed me be / To other work than love in our best days.” The question continues in the form of imagery of possibilities and potentialities. If not for the oppressive weight of love’s “splendid lunacy” one might achieve great things. One might be as a lighthouse providing illumination that saves those facing the tumult of dangerous waters unseen in the darkness. One night become a ray of light offering guidance until the storm passes by. But the sea, she takes everything. Including the hearts of those in love who no longer have access to those potentialities and possibilities because they’ve gone made with splendid lunacy.
