Summary
The poem begins as though mid-sentence, with a litany of ways that the addressee will not find shelter ("nor skin nor hide nor fleece / shall cover you") in the comfort of the forest or in the warmth of animal pelts. The next stanza is structured in the same manner, but the litany refers to pleasant or visceral sensory experiences one would enjoy in the woods and near a river ("nor fragrance of flowering bush, / nor wailing of reed-bird to waken you"). The final stanza continues the litany, which goes on to insist that the addressee will also not desire a lover, or human interaction at all ("nor word nor touch nor sight / of lover"), but will instead long for "the roll of the full tide to cover" him or her. Presumably, given the title "Lethe" (a river in Greek mythology whose waters bring oblivion), the speaker ends the poem referring to the reader's desire to steep him or herself in lethe, bringing forgetfulness ("without question, / without kiss."). The poem ends here, with the powerful assertion that even love will not be as strong as the allure of numbness.
Analysis
The title of the poem situates the reader within the scene of Greek mythology, the river Lethe being a river in Hades that brings oblivion, forgetfulness, and concealment to those who drink its waters. In constrast to H.D.'s poem "Oread," which describes a subject seeking intense feeling also symbolized by submersion in water, the subject in "Lethe" apparently hopes the water will abolish memory, exposure, or comprehension. Although all people sometimes hope to forget difficulties and painful memories, "Lethe" goes beyond this assumption as the speaker presumes that the addressee will give up every facet of aliveness for a dulled, blank existence.
Critic and poet Marie Ponsot makes insightful observations about the structure and rhythm of the poem, first noting that the lines shift from iambic (duh-DUH-duh-DUH rhythm: "nor skin nor hide nor fleece") to quicker and more abrupt lines at the end of the first stanza ("Nor the fir-tree / Nor the pine."). She writes, "The three stanzas are matched in rhythm, line for line, fluent and sayable." Worth noting is the allure of something that is "sayable," which grounds the speaker's argument; that numbness or oblivion is preferable to coping with the unsayable. In psychoanalysis, with which H.D. was very familiar, the unsayable is material protected from consciousness by the unconscious mind. Above this undercurrent of reference to bearable versus unbearable, the speaker states quite clearly that the addressee will not have shelter of any kind. Thus, the poem begins by rendering the reader vulnerable and seeking further explanation.
The second stanza, in its diction, evokes the joys of language and sound; the litany of birds and plants listed include a wide range of vowels and consonants ("Nor sight of whin nor gorse / Nor river-yew"), as well as many different bird songs ("Nor of linnet, /Nor of thrush"). Further, the speaker—in listing the different sensory experiences one might have in the woods by a river (Nor fragrance of flowering bush, /Nor wailing of reed-bird to waken you")— reminds the reader of how luscious our lives are. Further, one is made aware of the diversity and richness of our ecosystems and the larger fabric of earthly existence. Perhaps these descriptions serve to set up the speaker for her later point, which is that even such a lovely tapestry of life is not enough to compete against the temptation of oblivion. Even the familiar experience of meeting life again upon waking up (and to a bird's call no less!) does not bring adequate gratitude or pleasure to cure one's obsession with forgetting. One might notice, too, that the speaker subtly hints with the word "wailing" that the sensory, conscious quality of life is actually quite painful.
The third stanza is perhaps the most potent of all. It makes a bold assertion that has been set up by the previous stanzas: that above all, speaking to, touching, and seeing one's lover will hold no appeal to the addressee in comparison with his or her longing for the effects of lethe. To those who have experienced romantic love, this claim is extremely brazen and audacious in its presumption. What's more, the lines cause the reader to imagine what exactly about the experience of Lethe could make the speaker so absolutely certain that he or she will feel this all-consuming craving for numbness. Despite the joys and pleasures of cognizance, memory, and feeling, the speaker opines that the reader will lie awake all night longing to be brought back, essentially, to a state of slumber.
The poem, although referring to quite a dark possibility, floats in an ethereal manner, each stanza freeing the reader from the bonds of life—shelter or enclosure, sensory experience, and human interaction. Presumably, given what drinking the water of Lethe will do, the reader will be free from memory and psychic exposure too. By the end of the poem, the ecstatic notion of feeling nothingness is frightening and strange—and also, somehow, enticing. The sound and rhythm of the last two lines embody this pull, almost like a lullaby the lilts and swings: "Without question, /Without kiss." One could argue that in losing memory, one loses desire, a feeling that is developed throughout our lives based on what we see, encounter, and become. With no memory, we have no identity or framework for pain and lack. In other words, by the end of the poem, the reader is left in the curious, unfamiliar state of wondering what life might be like without the experience of longing for anything at all.
