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American Poetry
Emily Dickinson
Wild Nights Wild Nights

 “Wild nights - Wild nights!” Summary

 The speaker begins by exclaiming about wild nights—an image that might equally suggest
literal stormy nights and nights of passion. If only she were with an unknown addressee, she
says, nights like this would bring them immense (and shared) pleasure.

Wild winds, the speaker goes on, can have no effect on a heart that is safely lodged in port—
an image which suggests that the speaker imagines herself as a sailor or a boat, and her
beloved as a safe harbor. When the speaker's heart is in such a port, it has no more need of
the tools of navigation: it's found the place it can rest.

The speaker then turns to a very different image of her imagined ocean: no longer a
dangerous, tempestuous place, but Paradise itself. She exclaims over this imagined sea, with
an "Ah!" that could express pleasure, pain, or both. The poem returns at its end to the image
of the beloved as a harbor, which the speaker wishes she could enter this very night.

“Wild nights - Wild nights!” Themes

Sexual Passion

Dickinson’s compact poem is a small explosion of desire. The speaker imagines herself as
both a sailor and a boat on a stormy sea, wishing desperately to be resting in the “port” of
her love (an image with a strong sexual innuendo built into it). The poem ultimately presents
passionate love as something paradoxical: it’s both wild and comforting, dangerous and
secure.

The speaker begins by exclaiming “Wild nights - Wild nights!” as if looking out into a
storm. She then imagines how her experience of such nights would be transformed into
“luxury” if her beloved were with her. Aside from the literal storm the speaker is looking out
into and wishing she could share with her beloved, those “wild nights” and their “luxury” (a
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word that had sexual connotations in Dickinson’s time) suggest a passionate sexuality. In
other words, the speaker is implying that, if only her beloved were around, they’d have a
great time.

The speaker goes on to build a contrasting image of the satisfied, passionate heart as a boat
in port, beyond the reach of storms. The speaker’s image of herself as a boat resting in a
harbor creates a sense of simultaneous calm and wildness. While “the winds” would still be
blowing if she were safely harbored with her love, those winds would be “futile,” unable to
affect her in the way they do now. The security of satisfied love would create a place of
safety and rest within her wild desire.

The image of the speaker as a boat at sea suggests her own smallness and helplessness in
proportion to the ocean of her desire, but also her determination: the “compass” and “chart”
give a sense of her drive to seek a known place, and then to be done with that searching. In
representing her beloved as the port, she creates a feeling that the beloved is her home, a
place of undisturbed security. Being with her love, again, offers both a sense of wildness and
tranquility.

In the final stanza, the speaker’s use of religious imagery completes her picture of passion as
a thing that is simultaneously stormy and calm. From the wild nights of the previous stanzas,
the speaker transitions into a quite different image: “rowing in Eden.” Eden, the earthly
paradise from the Bible, is an image of perfection—and of shameless sexuality. (Readers
may remember that before Adam and Eve eat the forbidden fruit and are driven from Eden,
they are naked and unashamed.) To be “rowing in Eden,” then, is to be on a calmer and more
blissful sea than the one the speaker has previously shown.

The exclamation “Ah! - the sea!”, in both its energy and its ambiguity, then brings together
all the visions of passion readers have seen so far. That “Ah!” could be a cry of relief, of
fear, of pleasure, or of pain—and all of these possibilities are present at once. Finally, the
poem closes on a passionate punch: if you’re thinking that the “in” of “in thee” is a pretty
vivid sexual image, you are not wrong. The speaker is utterly caught up in her imagining of
the sexual consummation she wishes for with her beloved.

I Felt a Funeral in My Brain

Summary
 The speaker feels as though a funeral service is taking place within his or her own mind. It
feels like the funeral attendees are pacing back and forth inside the speaker's head, so much
so that whatever they're walking on might break under the strain and then cause reason itself
to fall through the newly created hole in the speaker's mind.

The mourners finally take their seats for the funeral service. Yet this service doesn't contain
any words. Instead, the speaker can only make out a repetitive, drum-like noise. This noise
overwhelms this speaker, causing the speaker's mind to go blank, as if numb.

Now the service ends and the funeral procession begins. The mourners lift a coffin and carry
it as they walk across the speaker's soul, which creaks like an old wooden floor. Everyone in
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the funeral procession wears heavy boots made out of lead, which is why their walking once
again puts such a strain on the speaker's mind. Suddenly, there's the sound of a bell ringing,
but rather than coming from a single source it seems to be coming from the whole world at
once.

Even the sky (and possibly Heaven itself) rings like a bell. The speaker says that people exist
only to listen to the world's ringing. The speaker—whose mind has been reduced to a numb
silence—feels as though he or she is no longer human but instead has become some strange
creature. The speaker is alone in his or her own body and mind, as if shipwrecked there.

Finally, one of the metaphorical floorboards in the speaker's rational mind does break,
creating a hole through which the speaker falls further and further down. While falling, the
speaker seems to collide with entire worlds, until the speaker's mind shuts down altogether
and the speaker is no longer able to understand anything at all. Just as the speaker is about
the say what comes after this state, the poem ends.

Themes

Madness
Dickinson's poem depicts the difficulty of understanding the mysterious thoughts and
feelings that happen inside people. Often interpreted as chronicling a nightmarish descent
into madness, the poem can be read as depicting the terror and helplessness that accompany
losing one’s grip on reality.

Throughout the poem, the speaker’s mind seems passive and confused. Indeed, the “Funeral”
of the opening line can arguably be read as a reference to the death of the speaker’s reason or
sanity. As the funeral’s “Mourners” repetitively tread through the speaker’s mind, their steps
seem to wear down whatever is holding “Sense” back. The speaker waits for “Sense” to
come “breaking through”—basically, for meaning and reason to return. Alternatively,
“Sense breaking through” could imply the fragility of that sense itself, further reflecting the
disordered, easily-shattered nature of the speaker’s mind.

In either case, sense—physical or rational—never returns; the mind goes “numb” in response
to the drum-like “beating” of the funeral service. This strange simile evokes a sense of
maddening, thudding repetition, perhaps representative of the—rather paradoxical—
awareness of the fact that the mind is deteriorating. In other words, the “funeral” hammers
home the death of the speaker’s sanity. The speaker can’t escape the knowledge that his or
her knowledge is collapsing . The mourners carry a “Box”—perhaps a coffin containing the
speaker’s reason—as the speaker is left “Wrecked, solitary, here” in a space unfamiliar even
to him- or herself. This loss of sanity is thus a painful, isolating experience.

Indeed, the poem’s initial conceit, of a funeral in the brain, summons an elaborate vision of
the mind’s structure as being full of mysterious, inaccessible elements. For instance, the first
stanza basically asks readers to imagine the speaker’s mind as a two-floor structure. The
speaker only has partial access to this structure, listening from below to the funeral on the
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second floor. Additionally, the proceedings of the funeral itself are secret and hard to
perceive. They are “felt” and “heard” rather than seen. And again, the service doesn’t
contain words, but rather beats “like a Drum.”

Because of all this secrecy, the speaker almost becomes a stranger in his or her own mind.
These metaphorical events have taken on a life of their own, reflecting an increasing sense of
psychological dislocation; in other words, the speaker becomes ever more isolated from his
or her own thoughts.

In the last stanza, “Reason” breaks and the speaker plunges “down and down” into—well,
it’s unclear, which is part of the point! The image of falling that dominates this stanza shows
how the speaker’s mind has finally lost all control. Finally, the speaker is “Finished
knowing.” The “then -” that ends the poem represents an ultimate unknowability: the
speaker can’t even say what comes next. The rational mind, in effect, has shut down.
Ultimately, the poem evokes a sense of wonder and terror as it traces out a path that leads to
inner destruction and, finally, a total absence of rational awareness altogether.

The Nature of Despair

Throughout the poem the speaker references mourning, numbness, and a loss of control.
Using those characterizations as guideposts, readers can think of the poem as offering an
idiosyncratic depiction of despair. The speaker presents no explanation or solution. Instead,
the poem tracks despair from its onset to the darkest abyss of isolation.

The central metaphor of a funeral in the brain establishes the speaker’s state of mind. The
first two lines clue readers in: the speaker’s brain contains a “Funeral” and “Mourners.”
Something has died within the speaker, and the speaker’s mind mourns that loss. Rather than
give a specific cause for this feeling, however, the speaker lets it remain ambiguous. Despair
becomes a mysterious phenomenon without a clear cause.

The proceedings then continue for three stanzas, as the mourners sit for a service and carry a
“Box,” (i.e. a coffin) through the speaker. This suggests that despair can feel like a funeral
procession for an unknown person. It creates a feeling of anonymity and confusion.
Additionally, by taking up three stanzas, the funeral depicts how despair can seem unending,
always finding new ways to make one’s life bleaker.

The poem also evokes despair through physical metaphors. The funeral’s drum-like “beating
- beating -” along with the mourner’s heavy “treading - treading -” affect the mind as if
striking it. They cause the mind to go “numb.” Just as repeated pounding can cause skin to
lose sensation, so here the speaker’s inner bleakness prevents the mind from thinking or
feeling. Next the mourners’ feet become “Boots of Lead.” The speaker feels an increased
heaviness inside. Because of this heaviness, the soul can only “creak” mournfully.

Finally, all this beating and heaviness causes something to snap in the final stanza (“then a
plank in Reason, broke”). The speaker loses hold of certainty and falls completely into an
abyss (“And I dropped down, and down”). Again, the speaker’s mind gets repeatedly “hit,”
this time by the multitude of “World[s]” that populate the universe, until reaching a final
numbness.
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That physicality is compounded with a sense of loneliness, of being trapped within the mind.
This loneliness stems from a dawning awareness of the enormity of the universe. Readers
see this most clearly in the fourth stanza, when the speaker is “Wrecked, solitary, here.”
“Here” can be seen as representing the inescapable isolation of the self, how each person is
trapped within the “here” of their own minds. The immensity of the universe—whose
“Heavens” blare loudly like bells and whose plunging depths contain an unending series of
alternate “Worlds”—dwarfs the speaker. By the end of the poem, even the mysterious
“Mourners” have disappeared, leaving the speaker to fall down into this abyss totally alone.

Thus after depicting a kind of inner mourning, the poem comes to represent despair as a
force that beats the mind to numbness, heightens the effects of loneliness, and finally throws
the speaker down a pit of isolation.

The Irrational Universe

As the poem progresses, the speaker undergoes increasingly broad visions of the world. In
these visions, reason—the ability to find order and meaning in the world—is seen as a
human invention that the unknowable universe gradually breaks down. This can be thought
of as a complement to the theme of madness in the poem: the speaker loses “Sense”
specifically because the speaker is exposed to the senselessness of the universe.

In the final three stanzas, the poem expands dramatically, leading the inner space of the mind
into contact with the larger universe. Note how, in the third stanza, the sound from the
creaking of the soul and the stomping of the “Boots of Lead” transforms into the “toll” of the
entirety of “Space.” This moment seamlessly transforms the inner world (“the soul”) into the
outer world (“Space). “Toll” here references the ringing of a bell. It’s as if the whole world,
even its empty spaces, has suddenly filled with a mysterious sound whose source can’t be
placed or explained. This sound also has an ominous quality to it (think how frightening
such a moment would be). Since Dickinson’s poems often speculate on the existence of God,
this can be read as a moment of confrontation between the speaker and a terrifying, God-like
force, a kind of divine noise that fills the universe.

This in turn leads the speaker to speculate on the mind’s place in the universe, saying,
“Being” is “but an Ear.” Existence thus becomes passive; things exist only to be present to
the world, to perceive but not to explain. This line signals that the speaker has come to a new
understanding of what it means to be human. Or rather, the speaker seems to have become
something that’s almost not human at all—“some strange Race” that exists, along with
silence, as the means by which the universe makes itself known. It’s as if the speaker’s
journey has simplified the speaker's mind, reducing it to this state. (This state also can serve
as a model for the poet. That is, the poet can only “listen” to the universe as intently as
possible, not explain it.)

When the poem began, it implicitly compared the speaker’s mind to a building. That
building's collapse represents the collapse of order and reason, so that the speaker confronts
an endless universe that cannot be explained through human means. When the speaker says
“a Plank in Reason, broke,” the floorboards of the mind finally snap. By explicitly
associating these boards with “Reason,” the speaker treats rationality as a manmade
structure, one that can be broken by external forces. In other words, the universe doesn’t
obey the supposedly rational rules created by people; in fact, it actively works to destroy
them.
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The final collapse of reason coincides with a vision of the universe as an abyss that contains
“a World, at every plunge.” That is, the world contains many worlds, or infinite possibilities.
There’s nothing exciting about this, however, as the speaker bangs against these “worlds”
without being able to grasp any of them. This exposure provides an overwhelming glimpse
of the universe’s mystery and complexity—the way it seems ultimately irrational and
unknowable to human beings. And it is this awareness, ironically, that causes the speaker to
be "Finished knowing" altogether.

I Taste a Liquor

Summary
 I'm drinking a mysterious liquor that doesn't exist from a gorgeous pearly mug. Even the
famous wine grapes of the Rhine valley couldn't produce a liquor like this one!

I'm getting drunk on the air and can't get enough of the dew. I stagger through gorgeous,
infinite summer days, stopping to gaze at the burning blue sky like a drunk stops at pubs.

Even when the flowers' bartenders kick out bees that have gotten drunk, and the butterflies
swear off their sips of nectar, I'll keep on drinking—until even the angels swing their white
hats about and the saints rush to stare at me as I lean like a wobbly drunkard against the sun!

Themes
Appreciating the Glory of Nature

The speaker in “I taste a liquor never brewed” is getting drunk (metaphorically) on the
loveliness of a summer day. The speaker has a bottomless thirst for nature’s beauty,
becoming so deeply connected to the landscape that the speaker out-wilds the animals—
getting drunker than even the bees and butterflies sipping on nectar. The poem thus
celebrates the intoxicating glory of nature.

The speaker begins by describing a mysterious beverage, something so impossibly good it

seems magical. This "liquor" is, confusingly, "never brewed"—that is, this beverage isn't
actually something made by human beings. But though the poem is coy at first about exactly
what the speaker's tasting, the opening lines give readers a sense that, whatever this liquor is,
it’s really something special. For one thing, it’s served in “Tankards scooped in Pearl,” fairy-
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tale-ish vessels, and it outclasses even “Frankfort Berries”—wine grapes from the famous
Rhine vineyards, some of the best in the world.

Only in the second and third stanzas do readers learn that this magical liquor is nothing more
(or less) than the air, the dew, the flowers, and the summer sky—the natural world, with all
its bounty and wonder. Nature has become, to the speaker, rich, magical, and, of course,
intoxicating. The summer day is “endless,” and the sky becomes an infinite series of “inns of
molten Blue.” The speaker does indeed feel inebriated, but this isn't the result of partaking in
any illicit substances: the speaker is basically drunk on life itself.

And though the pleasures the speaker revels in are wholesome, the speaker's pleasure in
them is outlandish. The speaker is a “debauchee,” so drunk on nature that the speaker has
become joyfully wild. In fact, the speaker is wilder than wild: this person can out-party the
bees and butterflies drinking their fill in the flowers. The speaker's going to be the last one
out the door at this summer-day bar.

The speaker’s innocently wild nature-drunkenness is so pronounced, in fact, that it attracts

the attention of heaven itself. “Seraphs” and “Saints”—usually imagined as lofty, serene, and
holy—become town gossips, swinging their hats around and rushing to windows to see the
life-drunk speaker wobbling around. And the speaker's drunkenness has lifted this person so
far off the everyday ground that the speaker feels able to lean against the sun itself. The
speaker’s joyful inebriation thus brings heaven down to earth at the same time as it raises
earth to heaven. A normal (if lovely) day has become sublime through the speaker's nature-
drunkenness, and celestial beings have become the speaker's next-door neighbors.

W.Whitman
When Lilacs Last at My Dooryard Bloomed
"When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd- is an elegy on the death of Abraham Lincoln, though it
never mentions the president by name. Like most elegies, it develops from the personal (the death of
Lincoln and the poet's grief) to the impersonal (the death of "all of you" and death itself); from an
intense feeling of grief to the thought of reconciliation. The poem, which is one of the finest
Whitman ever wrote, is a dramatization of this feeling of loss. This elegy is grander and more
touching than Whitman's other two elegies on Lincoln's death, "0 Captain! My Captain!" and
"Hush'd Be the Camps To-day." The form is elegiac but also contains elements found in operatic
music, such as the aria and recitative. The song of the hermit thrush, for example, is an "aria."

Abraham Lincoln was shot in Washington, D.C., by Booth on April 14, 1865, and died the
following day. The body was sent by train from Washington to Springfield, Illinois. As it crossed
the continent, it was saluted by the people of America. Whitman has not only men and women but
even natural objects saluting the dead man.
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The first cycle of the poem, comprising sections 1-4, presents the setting in clear perspective. As
spring returns, the lilacs blossom, and the planet Venus "nearly dropp'd in the western sky," the poet
mourns the loss "of him I love." He mourns the "powerful western fallen star" now covered by
"black murk" in the "tearful night," and he is "powerless" and "helpless" because the cloud around
him "will not free my soul." He observes a lilac bush, is deeply affected by its perfume, and believes
that "every leaf [is] a miracle." He breaks off a small branch with "heart-shaped Leaves." A shy,
solitary thrush, like a secluded hermit, sings a song which is an expression of its inmost grief. It
sings "death's outlet song of life."

This first section of the poem introduces the three principal symbols of the poem — the lilac, the
star, and the bird. They are woven into a poetic and dramatic pattern. The meaning of Whitman's
symbols is neither fixed nor constant. The star, Venus, is identified with Lincoln, generally, but it
also represents the poet's grief for the dead. Lilacs, which are associated with everreturning spring,
are a symbol of resurrection, while its heartshaped Leaves symbolize love. The purple color of the
lilac, indicating the passion of the Crucifixion, is highly suggestive of the violence of Lincoln's
death. The bird is the symbol of reconciliation with death and its song is the soul's voice. "Death's
outlet song of life" means that out of death will come renewed life. Death is described as a "dark
mother" or a "strong deliveress," which suggests that it is a necessary process for rebirth. The
emotional drama in the poem is built around this symbolic framework. The continual recurrence of
the spring season symbolizes the cycle of life and death and rebirth. The words "ever-returning
spring," which occur in line 3 and are repeated in line 4, emphasize the idea of rebirth and
resurrection. The date of Lincoln's assassination coincided with Easter, the time of Christ's
resurrection. These two elements provide the setting to the poem in time and space.

The second stanza of the poem describes the poet's intense grief for the dead. Each line begins with
"O," an exclamation which is like the shape of a mouth open in woe.

The second cycle of the poem comprises sections 5-9. It describes the journey of the coffin through
natural scenery and industrial cities, both representing facets of American life. The thrush's song in
section 4 is a prelude to the journey of the coffin which will pass "over the breast of the spring"
through cities, woods, wheat fields, and orchards. But "in the midst of life we are in death," as it
says in the Book of Common Prayer, and now the cities are "draped in black" and the states, like
"crape-veil'd women," mourn and salute the dead. Somber faces, solemn voices, and mournful
dirges mark the journey across the American continent.

To the dead man, the poet offers "my sprig of lilac," his obituary tribute. The poet brings fresh
blossoms not for Lincoln alone, but for all men. He chants a song "for you 0 sane and sacred death"
and offers flowers to "the coffins all of you 0 death."

The poet now addresses the star shining in the western sky: "Now I know what you must have
meant." Last month the star seemed as if it "had something to tell" the poet. Whitman imagines that
the star was full of woe "as the night advanced" until it vanished "in the netherward black of the
night." Whitman calls upon the bird to continue singing. Yet the poet momentarily lingers on, held
by the evening star, "my departing comrade."

The symbols are retained throughout this section. The poet bestows, as a mark of affection, a sprig
of lilac on the coffin. The association of death with an object of growing life is significant. The star
confides in the poet — a heavenly body identifies itself with an earthly being. The star is identified
with Lincoln, and the poet is still under the influence of his personal grief for the dead body of
Lincoln, and not yet able to perceive the spiritual existence of Lincoln after death. The song of the
hermit thrush finally makes the poet aware of the deathless and the spiritual existence of Lincoln.
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In the third cycle of the poem, sections 10-13, the poet wonders how he shall sing "for the large
sweet soul that has gone." How shall he compose his tribute for the "dead one there I loved"? With
his poem he wishes to "perfume the grave of him I love." The pictures on the dead president's tomb,
he says, should be of spring and sun and Leaves, a river, hills, and the sky, the city dense with
dwellings, and people at work — in short, "all the scenes of life." The "body and soul" of America
will be in them, the beauties of Manhattan spires as well as the shores of the Ohio and the Missouri
rivers — all "the varied and ample land." The "gray-brown bird" is singing "from the swamps" its
"loud human song" of woe. The song has a liberating effect on the poet's soul, although the star still
holds him, as does the mastering odor" of the lilac.

In this cycle the description of natural objects and phenomena indicates the breadth of Lincoln's
vision, and the "purple" dawn, "delicious" eve, and "welcome" night suggest the continuous, endless
cycle of the day, which, in turn, symbolizes Lincoln's immortality.

Sections 14-16 comprise a restatement of the earlier themes and symbols of the poem in a
perspective of immortality. The poet remembers that one day while he sat in the peaceful but
"unconscious scenery of my land," a cloud with a "long black trail" appeared and enveloped
everything. Suddenly he "knew death." He walked between "the knowledge of death" and "the
thought of death." He fled to the bird, who sang "the carol of death." The song of the thrush follows
this passage. It praises death, which it describes as "lovely," "soothing," and "delicate." The
"fathomless universe" is adored "for life and joy" and "sweet love." Death is described as a "dark
mother always gliding near with soft feet." To her, the bird sings a song of "fullest welcome." Death
is a "strong deliveress" to whom "the body gratefully" nestles.

The thrush's song is the spiritual ally of the poet. As the bird sings, the poet sees a vision: "And I
saw askant the armies." He sees "battle-corpses" and the "debris of all the slain soldiers." These
dead soldiers are happy in their resting places, but their parents and relatives continue to suffer
because they have lost them. The suffering is not of the dead, but of the living.

The coffin has now reached the end of its journey. It passes the visions," the "song of the hermit
bird," and the "tallying song" of the poet's soul. "Death's outlet song" is heard, "sinking and
fainting," and yet bursting with joy. The joyful psalm fills the earth and heaven. As the coffin passes
him, the poet salutes it, reminding himself that the lilac blooming in the dooryard will return each
spring. The coffin has reached its resting place in "the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim."
The star, the bird, and the lilac join with the poet as he bids goodbye to Lincoln, his "comrade, the
dead I loved so well."

The poet's realization of immortality through the emotional conflict of personal loss is the principal
theme of this great poem, which is a symbolistic dramatization of the poet's grief and his ultimate
reconciliation with the truths of life and death.

Summary
‘When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d‘ is an elegy written upon the Death of Abraham
Lincoln. It highlights the inevitability of death upon human beings, through various images and
symbols

‘When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d’ following the death of Abraham Lincoln, comments on
how the poet finds solace in the song (poem). The poem begins with the description of spring and
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blooming lilacs, which he thinks is a cycle that will remind him of his loved one. He picks a lilac to
be offered to the coffin that has been moving around the city day and night. Further, the poet
employed the “Lilac,” “bird,” and “drooping star” as recurrent symbols in the poem to deliberate on
the impact of war and death, especially Abraham Lincoln’s. While concluding the poem, the
poet/speaker seems to be more at peace with death than his woeful complaint in the beginning. He
concludes with the note of death being an inevitable part that comes eventually to everyone like a
mother who comes to ease of the child from all suffering.

Themes
‘When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d’ being an elegy has death as a major theme. The death
of Abraham Lincoln and the impact of the Civil war is addressed by the poet, though not directly,
the images and the symbols present in the poem, make it clear. It also deals with the persistence of
life (life that goes on) in spite of the pains and sufferings. The images of “bustling cities,” “meals
and minutia of daily usages,” “the sun,” “the stars,” and “the hermit bird” remind us of life’s
continuance no matter what. As the seasons come and go, life on earth comes and goes.

Form and Structure

‘When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d’ is a long poem of 206 lines. It is written in the pastoral
elegy form. Whitman has done a lot of revision to the poem from the time it was first published. In
the final version, published in 1881, the poem is divided into sixteen sections with the length
ranging from 5 or 6 lines to as many as 53 lines. The poem does not possess a consistent metrical
pattern, and the length of each line varies from seven syllables to as many as twenty syllables.

Symbolism
Walt Whitman, well known for his rich use of symbolism in poetry to convey his thoughts, feelings,
and emotions has employed three major symbols- the star, the lilac, and the bird. The symbols are
interconnected, and recurrent though out the poem. Whitman has taken the symbols from the time of
Lincoln’s death. The spring and Lilac are used to represent the cyclic nature of the season and the
memory of Abraham Lincoln.  The Western Star that appears in the evening marks the approaching
night is used by the poet as a symbol to indicate the death of Abraham Lincoln the darkness
followed. It also refers to Abraham Lincoln who was like a guiding star to the people of America
during the Civil war. The hermit– thrush represents the voice of spirituality and the poet’s soul
singing.

O captain, My Captain
Summary
 Oh Captain, my Captain! Our hard journey is over. The ship has survived every storm, and
we’ve won the prize we've been fighting for. The port is close by and I hear bells ringing and
people celebrating. All their eyes are on the steady ship, that bold and brave vessel. But oh,
my heart! heart! heart! Oh, look at the drops of blood on the deck where my captain is lying
cold and dead.
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Oh Captain, my Captain! Get up and listen to the bells. Get up—they're waving the flag for
you—they’re playing the bugle for you. They’ve brought bouquets and wreaths with ribbons
for you—all these people are crowding on the shore for you. The swaying crowd is calling
for you, and all the people's eager faces turning towards you. Here Captain! My dear father!
I'll put my arm under your head. I must be dreaming that on the deck, you're lying cold and
dead.

My Captain isn’t answering me. His lips are pale and unmoving. My father doesn’t feel my
arm beneath his head, since he has no pulse or consciousness. The ship has anchored safely,
and its journey is over. After this hard journey, the victorious ship has returned with its prize.
Let the crowds celebrate and the bells ring! Meanwhile I, slowly and sadly, walk across the
deck where my Captain is lying cold and dead.

Themes

Victory and Loss

Even as the poem “O Captain! My Captain!” celebrates the end of the American Civil War,
it is also an elegy for President Abraham Lincoln. Victory and loss are thus closely
intertwined throughout the poem. On the one hand, its mourning is tempered with joyful
reminders that the war is won. Its celebrations, on the other hand, are haunted by
melancholy. In this sense, Whitman’s poem illuminates the lingering pain and trauma of
losses sustained in war—as well as the impossibility of ever separating the triumph of
victory from its human costs.

In its juxtaposition of the language of loss and victory, “O Captain! My Captain!” uses
poetic form to model the close relationship between triumph and pain. At first, it seems as if
this will be a poem celebrating the victory of the Union in the Civil War. The speaker
congratulates President Lincoln on steering the metaphorical ship of state through “every
wrack,” i.e. storm, and declares that “the prize we sought is won.” However, halfway
through this triumphant first stanza, the speaker breaks off: “But O heart! heart! heart! ... my
Captain lies, / Fallen cold and dead.” The sudden appearance of a qualification—"But O
heart!”—reveals to the reader that not all is well. The poem scarcely has time to celebrate
triumph before facing loss.

One of the poem’s painful ironies is that its celebrations are intended to honor the leader
who won this victory, yet President Lincoln is not there to witness the triumph. This is made
all the starker by the joyous scenes that begin each stanza: there are ringing bells,
“bouquets,” “wreaths,” and cheering crowds. The poem juxtaposes these moments of
vibrancy and happiness with the body of the “Captain”, which is “cold,” “dead,” “pale,” and
“still.”

The speaker also emphasizes that all of these celebrations are for President Lincoln with the
repetition of the word “you”—“for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills, For you
bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call,” the poet
repeats five times. The repetition of the word further underscores the poignancy of Lincoln’s
absence from his own celebration.
 12

Even small formal features like the poem’s punctuation register the tension between
celebration and mourning, as the speaker’s emotions descend from joy to grief. For example,
the exclamation points after “O Captain!” in the first stanza seem like enthusiastic
celebrations of victory. Later in the poem, however, the meaning of the exclamation points
begins to subtly change. “O heart!” becomes an exclamation of grief and dismay. The
exclamation points after “O Captain!” in the second stanza take on even darker connotations,
since it’s now clear that the speaker is addressing a dead man rather than a living leader. The
five total exclamation points in this stanza take on a desperate quality, as if the speaker is
begging the fallen leader to come back to life again. By the final stanza, there is only a single
exclamation point, marking the poem’s newly restrained tone of quiet grief. The speaker
acknowledges that the world around him is celebrating—"Exult O shores, and ring O
bells!”—but he walks with “mournful tread,” grieving even as the country rejoices.

Throughout, the speaker dramatizes the painfully close relationship between loss and
victory. The celebration of the Union’s triumph is reframed by the reminder that the country
has paid a dear price. Whitman seems to argue that loss and victory are closely linked in all
wartime settings, where victory always requires the expenditure of human life.

 Grief and Isolation

Each stanza of “O Captain! My Captain!” pivots between public celebration and private grief. In
this way, the poem foregrounds the tension between outward emotional expression and internal
emotional experience. The speaker must reconcile his personal grief for President Lincoln, whom he
seems to regard as a paternal figure, with the wider grief—and joy—of the nation. Through these
tensions, Whitman suggests that deep grief for a loved one can be an isolating force that makes loss
even more painful than it might otherwise be.

The tension between collective experience and private emotion is implied even in the title of the
poem, “O Captain! My Captain!” The speaker compares President Lincoln to the captain of a ship
and then refers to him as my captain, emphasizing his own personal connection to the president. The
poem is not titled “Our Captain”; rather, the speaker seems to feel that President Lincoln is his
captain in particular. Logically, the captain of a ship is indeed everyone’s captain, but the poet’s
choice to emphasize the personal pronoun makes the loss seem private and personal rather than
public.

The public celebrations that accompany the return of the ship into the harbor—metaphorically
standing in for the victory of the Union in the Civil War—are a shared experience of joy. By
contrast, the speaker’s experience of grief is private and solitary. The descriptions of the crowds
give the impression of a shared public experience. The “people” are “all exulting”; they are “a-
crowding” and form a “swaying mass” on the shore. They seem to have become a kind of collective,
feeling together and expressing themselves as one body.

On the other hand, the depiction of the speaker himself emphasizes his isolation and solitary
melancholy. Although he “hear[s] … the bells,” he ignores them and walks alone, “with mournful
tread.” The poem presents an experience of collective rejoicing, but the speaker chooses to
physically and emotionally separate himself from the crowd. The isolated nature of the speaker’s
grief seems to result from his perception of his relationship with Lincoln. That is, his mourning
seems to transcend the sorrow of a citizen for the assassination of a leader to become more like that
of a son for his father. Indeed, the speaker repeatedly refers to President Lincoln as “father.”

The poem’s final stanza thus introduces another layer of emotional complexity, as the speaker’s
grief becomes yet more private and personal in contrast to the rejoicing of the crowds. The speaker
 13

admits that “[m]y father does not feel my arm” and “he has no pulse,” implying that the speaker has
physically touched and shaken the body to feel for a pulse. This gesture is highly private and
intimate, more like a familial relationship than that of a citizen and a leader. It’s clear that the
speaker feels so strongly about the fallen leader that he experiences a close, almost paternal
relationship with him. The fact that the speaker’s intense, private grief contrasts so sharply with the
cheering crowds suggests that losing a loved one can create a painful boundary between an
individual and other people.

The Individual vs. the Nation

“O Captain! O Captain!” depicts the overwhelming grief and trauma that followed one of the most
notorious political assassinations in United States history. At the same time, it suggests that the
nation will move on and even thrive after the loss of its leader. In doing so, the poem interrogates
the relationship between the individual and the wider political community, ultimately suggesting
that the United States as a nation is a political project that can and must transcend the life of any
single person—even though individuals are still very important.

The poem’s extended metaphor compares President Lincoln to a captain steering the “ship of
state”— guiding the Union through the Civil War. However, the “captain” of the title turns out to be
less essential to the continuing success and unity of the nation than it might initially seem. At first it
seems like the “captain,” President Lincoln, is solely responsible for the safe return of the ship after
it has “weather’d every rack,” that is, survived every storm and finally made it home. But the poem
also hints that this is not entirely the case: even in the first stanza, the speaker refers to the voyage as
“our fearful trip,” implying that the community has survived these trials by banding together and
assuming shared responsibility.

The idea that President Lincoln might not be entirely essential to the nation’s victory becomes
clearer when the citizens continue to rejoice after their captain has fallen. Even while the “Captain
lies / Fallen cold and dead,” the people celebrate victory with bugles, bells, and public
commemorations. Their grief at the assassination of the president does not stop them from
continuing their celebrations and moving on with life. Although the speaker claims that the
celebrations are “for you [i.e. President Lincoln],” this starts to look more like wishful thinking as
the poem continues. The people don’t seem to require the physical presence of President Lincoln in
order to celebrate; the commemoration of the Union’s victory takes on a life of its own, persisting as
a community celebration even without the presence of a leader to direct it.

However, this emphasis on communal strength is complicated by the speaker’s own ambivalent
relationship to the crowds that await the ship’s arrival. He seems to feel that he has little in common
with them, since his grief alienates him from the general mood of celebration. This contrast shows
how meaningful individuals (like the fallen “Captain”) are within collective efforts, even if those
efforts can still succeed without them. Each stanza of the poem is split between the first four lines,
which generally depict communal scenes of rejoicing, and the final four lines, which typically
feature expressions of the speaker’s personal grief. This consistent divide suggests that the speaker
still feels a great deal of individual pain at the loss of his leader, despite the joy of his broader
community. The speaker even chooses to remain on board the ship while the communal celebrations
go on. The bells ring and the “shores … exult,” but he chooses to “walk the deck my Captain lies,”
alone. This physical separation reinforces the significance of the loss of the captain.
 14

While the nation manages to move forward without President Lincoln, the speaker can’t quite join
in the celebrations—the loss of his leader is still agonizing, even though the nation has survived.
Ultimately, the poem seems to argue that collectivity is necessary for the survival of the United
States, but it also acknowledges that individual people play crucial roles within this collective effort.

Robert Frost
After Apple Picking
Analysis
In terms of form, this poem is bizarre because it weaves in and out of traditional structure.
Approximately twenty-five of the forty-two lines are written in standard iambic pentameter, and
there are twenty end-rhymes throughout the poem. This wandering structure allows Frost to
emphasize the sense of moving between a waking and dream-like state, just as the narrator does.
The repetition of the term “sleep,” even after its paired rhyme (“heap”) has long been forgotten, also
highlights the narrator’s gradual descent into dreaming.

In some respects, this poem is simply about apple picking. After a hard day of work, the apple
farmer completely fatigued but is still unable to escape the mental act of picking apples: he still sees
the apples in front of him, still feels the ache in his foot as if he is standing on a ladder, still
bemoans the fate of the flawless apples that fall to the ground and must be consigned to the cider
press.

Yet, as in all of Frost’s poems, the narrator’s everyday act of picking apples also speaks to a more
metaphorical discussion of seasonal changes and death. Although the narrator does not say when the
poem takes place, it is clear that winter is nearly upon him: the grass is “hoary,” the surface of the
water in the trough is frozen enough to be used as a pane of glass, and there is an overall sense of
the “essence” of winter. Death is coming, but the narrator does not know if the death will be
renewed by spring in a few months or if everything will stay buried under mindless snow for all
eternity.

Because of the varying rhymes and tenses of the poem, it is not clear when the narrator is dreaming
or awake. One possibility is that the entirety of the poem takes place within a dream. The narrator is
already asleep and is automatically reliving the day’s harvest as he dreams. This explanation
clarifies the disjointed narrative — shifting from topic to topic as the narrator dreams — as well as
the narrator’s assertion that he was “well upon my way to sleep” before the sheet of ice fell from his
hands.

Another explanation is that the narrator is dying, and his rambling musings on apple picking are the
fevered hallucinations of a man about to leave the world of the living. With that in mind, the
narrator’s declaration that he is “done with apple-picking now” has more finality, almost as if his
vision of the apple harvest is a farewell. Even so, he can be satisfied in his work because, with the
exception of a few apples on the tree, he fulfilled all of his obligations to the season and to himself.
Significantly, even as he falls into a complete sleep, the narrator is unable to discern if he is dying or
 15

merely sleeping; the two are merged completely in the essence of the oncoming winter, and Frost
refuses to tell the reader what actually happens.

Themes
Nature
Frost places a great deal of importance on Nature in all of his collections. Because of the time he
spent in New England, the majority of pastoral scenes that he describes are inspired by specific
locations in New England. However, Frost does not limit himself to stereotypical pastoral themes
such as sheep and shepherds. Instead, he focuses on the dramatic struggles that occur within the
natural world, such as the conflict of the changing of seasons (as in "After Apple-Picking") and the
destructive side of nature (as in "Once by the Pacific"). Frost also presents the natural world as one
that inspires deep metaphysical thought in the individuals who are exposed to it (as in "Birches" and
"The Sound of Trees"). For Frost, Nature is not simply a background for poetry, but rather a central
character in his works.

Communication
Communication, or the lack thereof, appears as a significant theme is several of Frost's poems, as
Frost presents it as the only possible escape from isolation and despair. Unfortunately, Frost also
makes it clear that communication is extremely difficult to achieve. For example, in "Home Burial,"
Frost describes two terrible events: the death of a child and the destruction of a marriage. The death
of the child is tragic, but inability of the husband and wife to communicate with each other and
express their grief about the loss is what ultimately destroys the marriage. Frost highlights this
inability to communicate by writing the poem in free verse dialogue; each character speaks clearly
to the reader, but neither is able to understand the other. Frost explores a similar theme in
"Acquainted with the Night," in which the narrator is unable to pull himself out of his depression
because he cannot bring himself even to make eye contact with those around him. In each of these
cases, the reader is left with the knowledge that communication could have saved the characters
from their isolation. Yet, because of an unwillingness to take the steps necessary to create a
relationship with another person, the characters are doomed.

Everyday Life
Frost is very interested in the activities of everyday life, because it is this side of humanity that is the
most "real" to him. Even the most basic act in a normal day can have numerous hidden meanings
that need only to be explored by a poetic mind. For example, in the poem "Mowing," the simple act
of mowing hay with a scythe is transformed into a discussion of the value of hard work and the
traditions of the New England countryside. As Frost argues in the poem, by focusing on "reality,"
the real actions of real people, a poet can sift through the unnecessary elements of fantasy and
discover "Truth." Moreover, Frost believes that the emphasis on everyday life allows him to
communicate with his readers more clearly; they can empathize with the struggles and emotions that
are expressed in his poems and come to a greater understanding of "Truth" themselves.
 16

Isolation of the Individual

This theme is closely related to the theme of communication. The majority of the characters in
Frost's poems are isolated in one way or another. Even the characters who show no sign of
depression or loneliness, such as the narrators in "The Sound of Trees" or "Fire and Ice," are still
presented as detached from the rest of society, isolated because of their unique perspective. In some
cases, the isolation is a far more destructive force. For example, in "The Lockless Door," the
narrator has remained in a "cage" of isolation for so many years that he is too terrified to answer the
door when he hears a knock. This heightened isolation keeps the character from fulfilling his
potential as an individual and ultimately makes him a prisoner of his own making. Yet, as Frost
suggests, this isolation can be avoided by interactions with other members of society; if the
character in "The Lockless Door" could have brought himself to open the door and face an invasion
of his isolation, he could have achieved a greater level of personal happiness.

Duty
Duty is a very important value in the rural communities of New England, so it is not surprising that
Frost employs it as one of the primary themes of his poetry. Frost describes conflicts between desire
and duty as if the two must always be mutually exclusive; in order to support his family, a farmer
must acknowledge his responsibilities rather than indulge in his personal desires. This conflict is
particularly clear in "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," when the narrator expresses his
wish to stay in the woods and watch the snow continue to fall. However, he is unable to deny his
obligation to his family and his community; he cannot remain in the woods because of his "promises
to keep," and so he continues on his way. Similarly, in "The Sound of Tree," Frost describes a
character who wants to follow the advice of the trees and make the "reckless" decision to leave his
community. At the end of the poem, the character does not choose to leave (yet) because his sense
of duty to those around him serves as the roots that keep him firmly grounded.

Rationality versus Imagination

This theme is similar to the theme of duty, in that the hardworking people whom Frost describes in
his poetry are forced to choose between rationality and imagination; the two cannot exist
simultaneously. The adults in Frost's poetry generally maintain their rationality as a burden of duty,
but there are certain cases when the hint of imagination is almost too seductive to bear. For example,
in "Birches," the narrator wishes that he could climb a birch tree as he did in his childhood and leave
the rational world behind, if only for a moment. This ability to escape rationality and indulge in the
liberation of imagination is limited to the years of childhood. After reaching adulthood, the
traditions of New England life require strict rationality and an acceptance of responsibility. As a
result of this conflict, Frost makes the poem "Out, Out--" even more tragic, describing a young boy
who is forced to leave his childhood behind to work at a man's job and ultimately dies in the
process.

Rural Life versus Urban Life

This theme relates to Frost's interest in Nature and everyday life. Frost's experience growing up in
New England exposed him to a particular way of life that seemed less complicated and yet more
meaningful than the life of a city dweller. The farmers whom Frost describes in his poetry have a
unique perspective on the world as well as a certain sense of honor and duty in terms of their work
and their community. Frost is not averse to examining urban life in his poetry; in "Acquainted with
the Night," the narrator is described as being someone who lives in a large city. However, Frost has
 17

more opportunities to find metaphysical meaning in everyday tasks and explore the relationship
between mankind and nature through the glimpses of rural life and farming communities that he
expresses in his poetry. Urban life is "real," but it lacks the quality and clarity of life that is so
fascinating to Frost in his work.

Summary:
      The poem begins with a description of the apple-picker who has stuck his two-pointed ladder
through a tree and although there may be two or three barrels that he has not filled and although
there may be two or three apples which he didn't pick from some bough yet he does not want to do
apple-picking any longer. He is not only fed up of apple-picking, but the scent of the picked apples
has induced sleep into him. He feels that he cannot work even if he desires to. To him all familiar
objects of nature assume a strange and unfamiliar aspect and he is unable to remove this film. He
feels as though in a trance, he is led away into a world of dreams. The apple-picker is too hazy-
minded to distinguish between forms. The apple-picker feels that too much of apple-picking has
made him extremely tired and exhausted. Even wish-fulfilment can have negative effects. He
himself had wished for a bumper harvest and when it was fulfilled, he is feeling tired owing to too
much work. The apple-picker cannot anticipate the type of leisure he will enjoy.

Critical Appreciation:
      The poem has been appreciated for its charming and enchanting quality. It is all so simple and
exact, so casual yet so original. "A poem of reality, After Apple-Picking has the enchantment of a
lingering dream." Cleanth Brooks, one of the most stimulating critics of our times has read a deep
symbolic meaning into the poem. "The concrete experience of apple-picking is communicated
firmly and realistically, but the poem invites a metaphorical extension. The task of apple-picking, it
is suggested, is any task, it is life. The drowsiness which the speaker feels after the completion of
the task is associated with the cycle of seasons. Its special character is emphasized by a bit of magic,
even though the magic is whimsical." After speculating about the form his dream will take and the
noise of apples rumbling, he returns to his own subject of drowsiness, and the phrase, "whatever
sleep it is", renews the suggestions that his sleepiness might be something other than human sleep -
he might wake into a greater wisdom, greater knowledge.

      Cleanth Brooks further implies that the poem has a particular wisdom to communicate. "The
poem even suggests that the sleep is like the sleep of death. We are not to feel that the speaker is
necessarily conscious of this. But perhaps we are to feel that, were the analogy to present itself to
him, he would accept it.

      The theme thus turns out to be a sort of rustic New England version of "Ripeness is all, though
the theme is arrived at casually, stumbled over, almost - and with no effect of literary
pretentiousness.
 18

Paraphrase:
      Line. 1-5. My long...some bough - The dramatic setting and initial Commitment in tone is
remarkable. "Pre-sleep and sleepy reminiscence of the day, condition all that is said and the
speaker's first words show what form his dreamy talk will take."

  Line. 6. But I am....apple-picking now - The apple-picker is thoroughly tired and bored with apple-
picking. Fatigue and boredom gain on him and he decides that he will have nothing to do with
apple-picking now.

Line. 7-12. Essence of winter...hoary grass - In these lines there is a very fine and vivid description
of the atmosphere in the orchard. This description by the apple-picker gives us the very touch, the
very feel of the atmosphere in the orchard. This description is sensuous and becomes alive because
the words he chooses are just apt for the description and create an impression of drowsiness.
Untermeyer rightly comments that it is a vivid memory of experience that the reader absorbs it
physically. I feel it is not a memory of an experience - it is much more - in this description the
apple-picker is reliving the experience. The smell of the apples is too overpowering for him. He also
senses the quaintness of the world as it appears to the exhausted worker. The scent of apples in this
poem reminds us of a similar expression "drowsed with the fume of poppies" in Keat's Ode to
Autumn. The apple-picker feels himself pervaded with an oppressive feeling of drowsiness. Here
again we can trace a similarity between this drowsy sleepiness and the drowsy numbness of Keats'
Ode to Autumn. The entire landscape and the atmosphere around him assumes a mysterious halo
and is misted by over with a rare quality of strangeness. These qualities transform the scene
completely and the apple-picker can neither get rid of this strange quality nor can he comprehend
the transformed world. As he unknowingly steps into the realms of this world of sleepiness the
narrative of the fact about the ice skimmed from the trough mingles gradually with the dream, the
time references of the tenses become fused and confused. Brower comments on the rhythm and
images of the poem:

  "The meaning implied by the self-hypnosis and dreamy confusion of rhythm is finely suggested in
the image of the world of 'hoary grass' the blurred seeing of morning that anticipates the night
vision. This blurring of experience focusses in the central metaphor of the poem, essence of winter
sleep. Essence is both the abstract ultimate nature of sleep and the physical smell, the scent of apples
a metaphysical image in T.S. Eliot's sense of the term. Fragrance and sleep blend, and sight and
touch merge in. "I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight"

Line. 18. Magnified apples - Though the apple-picker is seeing the apples against the sky with
daylight accuracy and clarity, they appear to be magnified and enlarged. For him, they stand out as
symbols for great dream-like spheres

    Line. 19. Stem end and blossom end - This repetitious way of describing the apples over and
over again helps in blurring the precise details and giving the whole set up a metaphoric dimension.

    Line. 30. There were....to touch - This line instantly brings to mind the line in The Daffodils-Ten
thousand saw I ata glance.
 19

    Line. 37-38. One can....sleep it is - "In these lines tone and rhythm work together beautifully,
implying a great deal in relation to Frost's metaphor. The slight elevation of "One can see" recalls
the more mysterious seeing of the morning just as the almost banal lyricism of "This sleep of mine"
sustains the rhythm of dream-confusion. The rest of second line barely iambic, barely rhyming,
casual and rough, assures us that the speaker has at least one toe in reality"

    Line. 40-41. The wood chuck...long sleep - This is the closing metaphor of the poem, and as such,
it adds to the strangeness of 'winter sleep' by bringing in the non-human death-like sleep of
hibernation.

  Line. 42. Or just some human sleep - "The poem is absorbed with states between not only of winter
sleep, but of all similar areas where real and unreal appear and disappear. After Apple-Picking
illustrates exactly Santayana's remark, that the artist is a person consenting to dream of reality. The
consent in this instance is implied in the perfection of the form."

The Birches
 Summary
 Whenever the speaker sees stooped birch trees, which stand out against the surrounding
upright trees, the speaker likes to imagine that they're bent this way because a young boy has
been holding onto their thin upper branches and then, with the flexible trees in hand,
swinging to the ground. That said, the speaker knows that swinging from the trees doesn't
actually cause them to stay bent down the way ice-storms do.

Most people, the speaker posits, have seen birch trees covered in ice on bright mornings after
a winter's rain. Birches like this scratch against one another in the wind, the ice around the
branches glinting as it begins to crack. Before long, the sun heats up the ice-covered
branches and causes the fine layers of ice to fall, breaking across the hard crust that the snow
has created on the ground. Falling and breaking like this creates so many shards of ice that
one might think some kind of sphere in heaven has shattered and fallen to earth. The birches
get so weighted down by the ice that they sink to the level of scraggly, unhealthy ferns. They
never break under this strain, though they also never return to their previous height after
having been bent for so long. This is why passerby will notice such trees curving toward the
ground for years after they've been bent, their leaves hanging down in the same way that hair
might drape from the heads of young girls when they toss it forward while on their hands
and knees, leaving it to hang like that as it dries in the sun.

At this point, the speaker returns to the original focus of the poem, having gotten wrapped up
in describing the effect of ice storms. Originally, the speaker meant to say that it's preferable
to imagine that a boy bent the birch trees by swinging from them on his way to tend to his
family's cows. This boy, the speaker imagines, lived too deep in the woods to play baseball
in town, and instead had to find his own source of entertainment, amusing himself all
through the year. Gradually, the boy bent all the birches on his father's property by swinging
from their tops, which made the trees flexible and droopy. He did this so much, in fact, that
there weren't any birches in the area that hadn't succumbed to him.
 20

The boy learned how to safely swing from the birch trees, learning that it's important to not
jump before reaching the part where the trunk is most flexible, since otherwise the tree could
snap and fall quickly to the ground. The boy maintained his composure as he climbed all the
way up to the highest branches, moving with the same care one might use when slowly
filling a cup to the very top or even just beyond the top. Then, when he reached the top of
the tree, he jumped out and swung his legs gracefully through the air as he gradually sailed
to the ground.

The speaker used to be the kind of boy who swung from birch trees like this, and now
fantasizes about one day swinging from the birches again. This fantasy crops up when the
speaker becomes overwhelmed by the details and frustrations of everyday life—an
experience that is like trying to navigate through a stretch of woods without any kind of trail,
as trees and spider webs assault the speaker's face, which gets scratched by a small stick that
cuts across the eye.

The speaker says that it would be nice to escape earth for a bit and then, after a little while,
return and start all over again. This is not to say that the speaker wants some kind of
omniscient being to misinterpret and partially fulfill this wish by taking the speaker away
from earth for good without any chance of return. The speaker believes that earth is the only
place to fully enjoy things like love, and there's no other place where things might be better
than they are here. The speaker wants to die by climbing a birch tree, scaling its dark
branches and its snow-covered trunk in the direction of heaven, until the speaker got so high
that the tree could no longer support the weight and slowly bent over to place the speaker
back on the ground. This feeling of escaping earth while also returning to it, the speaker
says, would be very nice. There are worse things than being someone who swings from birch
trees.

 “Birches” Themes
The Joy of Childhood
“Birches” explores children's ability to find joy and wonder in everyday life. The speaker
contemplates ice-covered birch trees that have stooped to the ground, imagining that they’re
bent because a young boy has been climbing them, jumping off while holding their thin
uppermost branches and then drifting slowly back to the ground. This, the speaker imagines,
is what the young boy does to entertain himself when he’s on his way to care for his family’s
cows—a task that would otherwise probably be boring and mundane. In this way the poem
becomes a celebration of youthful spontaneity and joy—qualities that the poem implies are
no better embodied than by imaginative, care-free children.

The speaker particularly admires how children are able to find ways of having fun even
when they’re in seemingly boring circumstances. For example, the speaker imagines that the
boy swinging from the trees lives too far from town to play baseball, meaning that he’s left
to his own devices to keep himself entertained. This, however, doesn’t stop the boy from
fully enjoying life. Instead of mindlessly completing his chores, the boy finds an inventive
way of harnessing joy, turning to his surroundings and finding a way to thrill himself by
swinging from the trees. This childlike ability to squeeze happiness and excitement out of
life, the speaker implies, is a marvelous thing.

What’s more, the speaker subtly suggests that these kinds of life experiences aren’t just fun,
but important parts of the coming of age process. “He learned all there was / To learn about
 21

not launching out too soon,” the speaker says, suggesting that the boy knows not to jump
before reaching the flexible part of the tree, since this might cause the tree to snap when he
jumps, thus sending him plummeting to the ground.

On a broader level, this teaches the boy how to seek excitement and thrills safely—
especially since the idea of “not launching out too soon” can be applied to many areas of
life, ultimately emphasizing the importance of patience and thinking things through. In turn,
the speaker applauds children’s ability to enjoy life while also insinuating that this process of
having fun is an essential part of growing up, since it informs the way children learn to
navigate adulthood.

The Tedious Reality of Adulthood

The speaker frames adulthood as mundane, stressful, and bogged down by boring details and
responsibilities. This is why the speaker covets the imaginative period of childhood, when it
is easier to ignore the drudgery of everyday life in favor of a more inspired, fun-loving
outlook. In turn, the speaker implies that the humdrum realities of adult life chip away at
people until they no longer stop to enjoy the world in creative, spontaneous ways.

Even though the speaker knows that the birch trees are bent because they’re covered in ice,
the speaker prefers to think that a boy has been swinging through them and causing them to
droop. This, in turn, is a sign that the speaker is nostalgic for childhood and wants to ignore
the boring details of everyday life. The speaker is well aware that a boy “swinging” from the
trees wouldn’t actually “bend” the wood in this way, yet still says, “I should prefer to have
some boy bend them,” revealing an intentional effort to deny reality. The speaker
demonstrates a desire to view the world with excitement and wonder instead of always
thinking logically.

Of course, it’s not always so easy for the speaker to view the world this way. Indeed, the
speaker wants to imagine a child swinging through the trees, but ends up launching into an
extensive account of how ice builds up on branches. The speaker describes this as “Truth
br[eaking] in” and interfering with this fantasy, an idea that shows how hard it is to prioritize
imagination over reality as an adult.

This, then, suggests that the speaker is literally unable to ignore reality in favor of a more
exciting, whimsical worldview, especially since it isn’t until after this long-winded
description of icy branches that the speaker finally imagines a cheerful child having fun in
the woods. Consequently, readers see that even the speaker—who actively wants to escape
the boring details of the real world—feels the pull of logic and reason, which distracts from
more fun, imaginative perspectives.

Nonetheless, the speaker hopes to somehow regain a lighthearted and creative worldview.
With this in mind, the speaker “dream[s] of going back to be” the kind of person who swings
through trees. However, something is standing in the way: the boring but inarguable facts of
reality. In keeping with this, the speaker is most likely inhibited by old age, since it’s
undeniably hard for frail old people to shimmy up trees.

What’s more, there seems to be some kind of emotional block keeping the speaker from
acting spontaneously—perhaps because adulthood has stamped out the speaker’s will to seek
 22

out thrills or childish delights. Either way, what’s clear is that adulthood has changed the
way the speaker moves through the world, making it harder to set aside practical
“considerations” in favor of excitement, joy, or pleasure.

Death, Spirituality, and Escape

In some ways, the speaker appears ready to embrace death, expressing a certain willingness
to leave life behind. And yet, the speaker also rejects the theoretical allure of heaven in favor
of the pull of earthly life. It becomes clear that the speaker longs to experience the
transcendent feeling of escape that death would provide, but doesn’t ultimately want to give
up the pleasures of being alive—and with it, the possibility of again experiencing love,
wonder, and joy.

The speaker uses simple metaphorical imagery to illustrate the desire to escape life as it is.
Throughout the poem, the speaker talks about a young boy climbing birch trees and then
sailing to the ground after reaching the flexible treetops. For the most part, the speaker talks
about this in order to demonstrate the extent to which children are capable of finding joy in
life. However, the idea of climbing a tree only to be set back down on the ground after
reaching the top is also a metaphor for the desire to get away from the speaker’s own current
existence while also knowing that this escape will not be permanent.

In keeping with this, the speaker says that it would be nice, to “get away from earth for
awhile.” This suggests that the speaker wouldn’t mind being removed from everyday life,
which has perhaps become monotonous and unrewarding in the speaker’s old age.

However, the speaker apparently has no interest in leaving life behind in favor of an afterlife,
as evidenced by the fact that the speaker only wants to climb “toward heaven”—not actually
to heaven. As such, it’s clear that the speaker wants the cathartic and liberating feeling of
escaping adult life but is completely uninterested in any kind of true death or religious
transcendence, since this would mean permanently giving up earthly existence—something
the speaker has no intention of doing.

After all, the speaker thinks that life on earth is worth sticking around for, saying, “Earth’s
the right place for love: / I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.” Although the poem
doesn’t focus on love, this assertion showcases the speaker’s belief that earthly life is full of
good things like love that are worth living for, even when one yearns to leave other aspects
of life behind. What the speaker is after, then, isn’t death, but the opportunity to get some
distance from the drudgery of life so that the beautiful parts of existence—like love or
childish wonder—can be experienced anew. “That would be good both going and coming
back,” the speaker says, confirming the impulse to both leave life behind and regain it—a
dynamic exemplified by a flexible birch tree’s ability to give one the satisfaction of climbing
and descending at the same time.

Mending Wall
 23

 Summary
 There is some force that doesn’t like walls. It causes the frozen ground to swell underneath a
wall, and the wall's upper stones then topple off in the warmth of the sun. This creates gaps
in the wall so big that two people could walk through them side-by-side. And then there are
the hunters who take apart the wall—that’s something different. I often have to come and fix
the spots where hunters haven't left a single stone in place, as they tried to flush out the
rabbits that hide in the wall in order to make their barking dogs happy. No one has seen or
heard these gaps in the wall being made. We just find them there in the spring, when it
comes time to fix the wall. I reach out to my neighbor, who lives over a hill, and we find a
day to get together and walk along the wall, fixing these gaps as we go. He walks on his side
of the wall and I on mine, and we deal only with whatever rocks have fallen off the wall on
our side of it. Some of them look like loaves of bread and some are round like balls, so we
pray that they’ll stay in place, balanced on top of the wall, saying: "Don’t move until we’re
gone!" Our fingers get chafed from picking up the rocks. It’s just another outside activity,
each of us on our side of the wall, nothing more.

There’s no need for a wall to be there. On my neighbor’s side of the wall, there’s nothing but
pine trees; my side is an apple orchard. It’s not like my apple trees are going to cross the
wall and eat his pine cones, I say to him. But he just responds, "Good fences are necessary to
have good neighbors." Since it’s spring and I feel mischievous, I wonder if I could make my
neighbor ask himself: "Why are they necessary? Isn’t that only true if you’re trying to keep
your neighbor’s cows out of your fields? There aren’t any cows here. If I were to build a
wall, I’d want to know what I was keeping in and what I was keeping out, and who was
going to be offended by this. There is some force that doesn’t love a wall, that wants to pull
it down.” I could propose that Elves are responsible for the gaps in the wall, but it’s not
exactly Elves, and, anyway, I want my neighbor to figure it out on his own. I see him, lifting
up stones, grasping them firmly by the top, in each hand, like an ancient warrior. He moves
in a deep darkness—not just the darkness of the woods or the trees above. He does not want
to think beyond his set idea about the world, and he likes having articulated this idea so
clearly. So he says it again: “Good fences are necessary to have good neighbors.”

 “Mending Wall” Themes

Borders
At its heart, “Mending Wall” is a poem about borders—the work it takes to maintain them
and the way they shape human interactions. The speaker and the speaker's neighbor spend
much of the poem rebuilding a wall that divides their properties. As they do so, they debate
the function of the wall and how it affects their relationship.

The speaker suggests that the wall is unnecessary, both practically and politically: in the
speaker's mind, walls exclude people, injuring otherwise harmonious relationships. But the
neighbor argues that walls actually improve relationships, because they allow people to treat
each other fairly and prevent conflict. The poem doesn't fall too heavily on either side of the
debate, ultimately allowing readers to decide for themselves which vision of human
community is most convincing.

The speaker believes the wall isn't necessary, given the crops that the speaker and the
neighbor grow: while cattle might wander over to graze in someone else's pasture, the
 24

speaker's apples aren't going to eat the neighbor's pine trees. More importantly, the speaker
believes that walls actively damage people's relationships. This is because walls are likely to
“give offense”—that is, to offend people with their implication of mistrust and exclusion.

The speaker thus asks the neighbor why they need to continue repairing the wall at all. In
response, the neighbor says simply and repeatedly: "Good fences make good neighbours."
He believes that a good neighbor establishes clear boundaries, and in doing so prevents
problems from arising between people who live near each other. The neighbor seems
haunted by the possibility of future conflicts. In fact, he seems to regard such conflicts as an
inevitable part of life—and as such that it’s important to take steps to prevent them.

For the speaker, there's no reason to engage in such preventative measures because there are
no conflicts between him and his neighbor—not even the seeds of future conflict. "Here
there are no cows," the speaker says, literally referencing the fact that there aren't any cattle
around that need to be penned in, lest they graze on someone else's property, and also
figuratively suggesting that the speaker and the neighbor have no reason to be especially
possessive of their lands. They aren't competing for resources, and should be able to live
peacefully side by side. In this worldview, people are basically decent. It is building the wall
itself that seems to the speaker most likely to cause conflict, by creating a sense of "us" vs.
"them" and implying that the neighbors don't trust each other.

The speaker and his neighbor thus disagree over an issue so fundamental to human society
and political thinking: they debate whether conflicts between human beings are inevitable (if
preventable) or whether those conflicts are the result of misguided cynicism about the
possibility of peace between people.

Yet though the speaker gets the most air-time in the poem, it's not entirely clear that the
reader is supposed to take the speaker's side. Instead, the poem itself remains decidedly
ambiguous—for all the speaker's complaints about the wall, the speaker is the one who sets
the mending in motion by reaching out to the neighbor, and the poem even gives the
neighbor the final word.

The poem thus asks its reader to decide for themselves who is right and who is wrong, and to
make up their minds about the utility of walls, borders, and other political and physical
devices that divide people.

The Death of the Hired Man

Summary:
      The Death of the Hired Man is a demonstration of Frost's capacity for compression of
progression. Within a brief span of two hundred and forty-five lines, Frost builds up a complete plot.
The hired man, who is the central character of the poem makes an appearance only at the end of it.
His death is the central event of the poem - the axis on which the entire action revolves - and the
meaning of his death unfurls before us layer after layer through successive presentation of the
impressions of Warren and Marry.
 25

      Warren does not want to take back Silas into service. Silas is the old farm-hand who had
irritated Warren and given evidence of ingratitude, time and again, by leaving him in hope of higher
wages, precisely when he was needed most - at the time of harvest. The dramatic conflict in the
poem arises from Mary's consistent efforts to persuade her husband to have pity on Silas, not with
standing the past and to help Silas when he most needed it - when he is broken, old and helpless.
She is not pleading from any practical point of view - she is pleading his case only on humanitarian
grounds. Warren is nursing old grudges and does not want to take back Silas because he did not
think him to be reliable. Moreover, Warren has not yet seen Silas after his return at present, and so
is completely unaware that Silas is in deep waters - he is on the periphery of death. He does not have
any idea that Silas could collapse any moment. Every step in Mary's argument with her husband
throws fresh light on Silas' character. By the end we see his character in true colours. He comes out
to be a man with a heavy dosage of self-respect.

"The final truth about his personality is his death." We, as the sane and alert readers of the poem are
not shocked to learn about his death at the end. This seems to be the imminent culmination to all
what we have been told in the poem. His death provides the anchoring point of his character and
life. Guided by his impractical idealism, he prefers to seek work at Warren's, to living on the mercy
and charity of his relatives. He would be able to maintain his independence in some measure, in
some form, however mitigated. Putting this idea in very apt words, Lynen says: "His self-respect has
been the essence of his life, and now that this self-respect can exist only as a charitable fiction, his
life is, in the truest sense ended."

Themes
Several themes are touched upon by Frost in this poem including family, power, justice, mercy, age,
death, friendship, redemption, guilt and belonging. A major theme in the poem is that of the ‘home’
or homecoming. Despite the fact that Silas’ brother should seemingly be the natural home for Silas
to die, he has chosen Warren and Mary’s farm. Warren wrestles with the idea that “Home is the
place where, when you have to go there, / They have to take you in.” (Presumably he says this
bitterly or sarcastically.) By saying this he is highlighting, at least at that point in the poem, that he
does not feel obliged to put a roof over Silas’ head because of his betrayal of leaving the farm. Mary
replies, more charitably: “I should have called it / Something you somehow haven’t to deserve.”
Silas has evidently returned ‘home’ to the farm to try to reaffirm some meaning in his life before he
dies by helping with the next season, and trying to redeem his relationship with Harold – neither of
these pursuits are fulfilled. The poem does not blatantly imply that Warren and Mary have had
children of their own. Childless marriage is a theme that Frost often addressed.[1]

The poem shines light on Warren’s progressive moral slide from resistance to acceptance of his
responsibility of providing a home for Silas’ death despite his wrongdoings. Should Silas be given a
home that he perhaps does not deserve? Mary states that “he has come home to die: / You needn’t
be afraid he’ll leave you this time.” Continuing on her theme of Silas’ worth she empathizes: “His
working days are done; I’m sure of it.” Perhaps an also interesting side note is Frost's choice for
Mary's name and her moral values. Through the obvious moral dichotomy at the start of the poem
between Warren and Mary, it can be interpreted that Mary has slowly convinced Warren to offer
Silas a room at the house; obviously his offering comes too late with Silas having died, arguably
alone, beside the stove.
 26

Road Not Taken

 Summary
 The speaker, walking through a forest whose leaves have turned yellow in autumn, comes to
a fork in the road. The speaker, regretting that he or she is unable to travel by both roads
(since he or she is, after all, just one person), stands at the fork in the road for a long time
and tries to see where one of the paths leads. However, the speaker can't see very far because
the forest is dense and the road is not straight.

The speaker takes the other path, judging it to be just as good a choice as the first, and
supposing that it may even be the better option of the two, since it is grassy and looks less
worn than the other path. Though, now that the speaker has actually walked on the second
road, he or she thinks that in reality the two roads must have been more or less equally worn-
in.

Reinforcing this statement, the speaker recalls that both roads were covered in leaves, which
had not yet been turned black by foot traffic. The speaker exclaims that he or she is in fact
just saving the first road, and will travel it at a later date, but then immediately contradicts
him or herself with the acknowledgement that, in life, one road tends to lead onward to
another, so it's therefore unlikely that he or she will ever actually get a chance to return to
that first road.

The speaker imagines him or herself in the distant future, recounting, with a sigh, the story
of making the choice of which road to take. Speaking as though looking back on his or her
life from the future, the speaker states that he or she was faced with a choice between two
roads and chose to take the road that was less traveled, and the consequences of that decision
have made all the difference in his or her life.

 “The Road Not Taken” Themes

Choices and Uncertainty
In "The Road Not Taken," the speaker describes him or herself as facing a choice between
which of two roads to take. The speaker's choice functions as an extended metaphor for all
the choices that the speaker—and all people—must make in life. Through the speaker's
experience, the poem explores the nature of choices, and what it means to be a person forced
to choose (as all people inevitably are).

The poem begins with the speaker recounting the experience of facing the choice of which
road to take. The speaker's first emotion is "sorrow," as he or she regrets the reality that
makes it impossible to "travel both" roads, or to experience both things. The poem makes
clear that every choice involves the loss of opportunity and that choices are painful because
they must be made with incomplete information. The speaker tries to gather as much
information as possible by looking "down one [road] as far as I could," but there is a limit to
what the speaker can see, as the road is "bent," meaning that it curves, leaving the rest of it
out of sight. So the speaker, like anyone faced with a choice, must make a choice, but can't
 27

know enough to be sure which choice is the right one. The speaker, as a result, is paralyzed:
"long I stood" contemplating which road to choose.

The speaker does eventually choose a road based on which one appears to have been less
traveled, but the poem shows that making that choice doesn't actually solve the speaker's
problem. Immediately after choosing a road, the speaker admits that the two roads were
"worn... really about the same" and that both roads "equally lay" without any leaves "trodden
black" by passersby. So the speaker has tried to choose the road that seemed less traveled,
but couldn't tell which road was actually less traveled. By making a choice, the speaker will
now never get the chance to experience the other road and can never know which was less
traveled. The speaker hides from this psychic pain by announcing that he or she is just
saving "the first [road] for another day!" But, again, reality sets in: "I doubted if I should
ever come back." Every choice may be a beginning, but it is also an ending, and having to
choose cuts off knowledge of the alternate choice, such that the person choosing will never
know if they made the "right" choice.

The poem ends with the speaker imagining the far future, when he or she thinks back to this
choice and believes that it made "all the difference." But the rest of the poem has shown that
the speaker doesn't (and can never) know what it would have been like to travel down that
other road—and can't even know if the road taken was indeed the one less traveled. And,
further, the final line is a subtle reminder that the only thing one can know about the choices
one makes in life is that they make “all the difference”—but how, or from what, neither the
poem nor life provide any answer.

Individualism and Nonconformity

In "The Road Not Taken," the speaker is faced with a choice between two roads and elects to
travel by the one that appears to be slightly less worn. The diverging roads may be read as
being an extended metaphor for two kinds of life choices in general: the conventional versus
the unconventional. By choosing the less-traveled path over the well-traveled path, the
speaker suggests that he or she values individualism over conformity.

The speaker, when deciding which road to take, notes that the second is “just as fair” as the
first, but that it has “perhaps the better claim, / Because it was grassy and wanted wear.” In
other words, the second road had the added benefit of being less well-worn than the first.
Notably, this absence of signs of travel is phrased positively rather than negatively. Rather
than stating outright that the road looked as if it had not had many travelers, the speaker
states that it was “grassy” (a consequence of low foot traffic) and that it “wanted wear” (as if
it were almost asking for the speaker to walk on it). The speaker presents nonconformity as a
positive trait, and even implies that popularity can make things less appealing: the first road,
because of its popularity, lacks the grass that makes the second path so enticing.

Despite the speaker’s preference for nonconformity, though, the poem ultimately remains
ambiguous about whether choosing the road “less traveled” necessarily leads to a better or
more interesting life. First, the poem questions whether it's actually even possible to identify
what is non-conformist. After choosing the road that seems to have been less traveled, the
speaker then comments that, in fact, the two roads had been "worn ... really about the same."
The speaker seems to sense that though he or she has attempted to take the road "less
traveled," there's no actual way to know if it was less traveled.
 28

Second, the poem subtly questions its own final line, in which the speaker asserts that
choosing the road he or she did actually take has made "all the difference.” Many readers
interpret this final line as being an affirmation of the speaker’s decision to venture off the
beaten path. But note that the poem is careful not to state that choosing the road less traveled
has necessarily made a positive difference. Further, because the poem has raised the
possibility that the path the speaker took was not in fact "less traveled," it also raises the
possibility that the speaker is wrong, and taking that particular path can't be said to have
made any specific difference at all. There is also a third option offered by the poem, which is
that the speaker is correct that choosing that road "made all the difference," but that this
"difference" was created not by taking the objectively less traveled path—because no one
can measure precisely which path was less traveled—but rather by making the choice to try
to take the less traveled path. In this reading, the poem implies that it is the effort made to
take the less conventional path that makes the difference.

Making Meaning
In “The Road Not Taken,” the speaker must choose between two roads without having
complete information about how they differ. Even after having chosen the second road, the
speaker is unable to evaluate his or her experience, because the speaker can't know how
things would have been different if he or she had chosen the first road. In the final stanza,
the speaker imagines him or herself in the distant future looking back on this choice. In this
way, the poem engages not just with a choice being made, but with the way that the speaker
interprets that choice and assigns it meaning after the fact. It is only when looking back, after
all, that the speaker sees the choice of which road to take as having made "all the
difference."

Many people read the poem straightforwardly, and believe the choice did make "all the
difference." The poem, however, is not clear about whether the speaker's final assertion is
true. The speaker explains that he or she chose to take the second road because it seemed
more “grassy” and less worn than the first, but soon admits that the two roads were actually
worn to "about the same" degree. By raising the question of whether there was actually
anything special about the road the speaker chose to take, the poem further questions
whether taking the second road could have possibly "made all the difference," or even any
difference at all. The poem implies that the speaker in the future may look back and
construct a narrative of his or her life that is simpler and cleaner, and which gives this choice
more meaning than the truth would support. Using this interpretation, the poem can be read
as commenting more broadly on how all people fictionalize their lives by interpreting their
choices, in hindsight, as being more purposeful and meaningful than they really are.

The poem can also be read in a third and more positive way, though. In this third
interpretation, the poem implies that it’s less important whether the speaker’s choice actually
"made all the difference" than it is that he or she believes that it did. In this reading, the
poem recognizes that the speaker—and all people—fictionalize their lives by creating
meaning where there may not be any, but portrays such meaning-making not as fraudulent,
but rather as a part of being human.

All three of these different possible readings co-exist in "The Road Not Taken." The poem
does not suggest a solution to the question of the meaning in the speaker's choice, but rather
 29

comes to embody the question itself, allowing for contemplation of the mysteries inherent in
defining or interpreting a life.

Acquainted with the Night

 Summary
 The speaker declares their familiarity with the night. It was raining when the speaker began a
walk across the city, and it was still raining at the end of the walk. During the walk, the
speaker progressed beyond even the outermost light of the city.

The speaker looked into the most desolate city street. The speaker also passed by a
watchman patrolling the city. The speaker, however, looked down to avoid eye contact with
the watchman, not wanting to talk about the reasons behind the speaker's nighttime walk.

During the walk, the speaker stopped moving upon hearing a distant, broken-off cry. The
sound of this other human's voice traveled across houses from a different street.

However, the voice did not call the speaker to come back or bid the speaker farewell. Even
more distant and higher up, the moon shines like a bright clock in the sky.

This metaphorical clock declares that the time is not wrong or right. The speaker again says
that they are familiar with the night.

 “Acquainted with the Night” Themes

Isolation, Sorrow, and Despair
In “Acquainted with the Night,” the speaker describes a solitary nighttime outing in the city.
During this aimless wandering, the speaker grapples with a sense of despair and sorrow.
Indeed, the speaker’s emotions are so powerful that they prevent the speaker from talking to
or connecting with others, keeping the speaker in a state of isolation. The poem thus implies
a link between these states: despair leads to isolation, and vice versa, creating a self-
perpetuating cycle. The poem further explores how isolation, sorrow, and despair can feel
inescapable—like walking through an endless night.

The physical details of the city at night reflect the speaker’s mood. The speaker is “one
acquainted with the night.” The night is generally associated with darkness, which, in turn, is
associated with suffering and despair. Thus, the speaker’s familiarity with the “night” is also
symbolic of the speaker’s familiarity with these particular emotions. Furthermore, given the
sense of isolation that pervades the poem, “acquainted” is used ironically to imply that the
only thing the speaker is connected to is disconnection itself. Additionally, the speaker
begins and ends this walk in “rain.” Rain is often associated with sorrow, with raindrops
often representing human tears. Therefore, the physical rain that surrounds the speaker is a
reflection of the speaker’s sorrow.
 30

As the speaker continues walking, the darkness and sorrow of the surroundings intensify.
The speaker walks beyond even the “furthest city light,” thus sinking further into physical
darkness. In a similar vein, the speaker characterizes the “city lane” they look into as the
“saddest.” The use of superlatives—"furthest” and “saddest”—reflects the heightening of the
speaker’s emotions. Indeed, the speaker’s despair and sorrow seem never-ending; although
the speaker continues to progress on the walk, the speaker doesn’t actually go anywhere on a
figurative and emotional level. This sense of despair and sorrow is inescapable, like the night
itself.

What's more, the speaker’s feelings of suffering and despair prevent the speaker from
finding solace in any companionship and preserve a state of isolation. The speaker has
deliberately walked beyond “the furthest city light” and is thus on the outskirts of the city.
The speaker is thus unlikely to encounter another human being to keep company with.
However, even when the speaker encounters a “watchman” patrolling the city, the speaker
refuses to make eye contact or speak to him. Then, the speaker hears another human voice
from “far away.” The distance and darkness make it impossible for the speaker to locate the
owner of the voice. Moreover, the voice does not “call [the speaker] back or say good-bye”;
neither the speaker nor the other voice can make a connection with one another. Thus,
though the speaker is teased with opportunities for human connection, the speaker’s inability
to make that connection happen only reinforces the speaker's isolation.

Consequently, the speaker’s walk does not provide the solace or resolution the speaker
searches for. Rather, the speaker remains in the same state as the beginning. The speaker
looks up at the sky for some sort of answer. However, the moon, which the speaker views as
a “luminary clock,” tells them that “the time [is] neither wrong nor right.” Thus, even the
moon cannot provide the speaker with any comfort or definitive answer. The speaker repeats
the assertion that they are “one acquainted with the night,” making it clear that the speaker’s
isolation, sorrow, and despair have not lessened or even changed.

Furthermore, the word “one” suggests that the speaker is “one” of many who are similarly
familiar with these particular emotions. And indeed, the speaker’s self-perpetuating cycle of
isolation and despair exists beyond a particular reason or explanation; the reader never finds
out why the speaker is so sad. As the speaker’s suffering is not unique, the poem suggests
that isolation, sorrow, and despair are an inherent part of the human experience.

Tree at My Window
Background Information
Tree ay My Window is an apostrophe composed by Robert Lee Frost that appeared in his
1928 poetic collection, West-Running Brook. This poem reflects the poet's association and
relation with Nature, not in a way Wordsworth perceives. Frost's love of Nature is based
upon concrete and matter-of-fact realism. He differentiates between mind and matter. This
poem invokes a distinctive perspective of the force of Nature that is beneficial and
destructive simultaneously to its dwellings as well as it is only vulnerable to and concerned
about the outer "weather". 
 31

সারমর্ম ও আলোচনা

এই কবিতাটি ফ্রস্টের অন্যান্য কবিতা থেকে আলাদা কারন ফ্রস্টের অন্যান্য কবিতায় ঘটনার স্থান হয় সাধারনত মাঠ, বন বা বাড়ির উঠান

ইত্যাদি কিন্তু এখানে দেখা যাচ্ছে ফ্রস্ট তাঁর ঘরের জানালা দিয়ে পাশের গাছ থেকে দেখছেন। তিনি রাতের বেলায় ঘরের জানালা বন্ধ করে

রাখেন কিন্তু গাছটির ভালোবাসায় তিনি জানালার পর্দা সরান না। এটা অভ্রান্তচিত্তে একটি আধুনিক প্রকৃ তির কবিতা। এই কবিতায় তিনি

মানুষ ও বৃক্ষের অবস্থার তু লনা করেছেন। তিনি বলেন তিনি তাকিয়ে দেখেন ঝড় গাছকে বাতাসে এদিক সেদিক নাড়ায় আর রাতে যখন

তিনি ঘুমিয়ে থাকেন তখন গাছ তাঁর দিকে তাকিয়ে দেখে ঘুমের ভিতর স্বপ্ন তাকে কিভাবে ঝেড়ে নিয়ে যায় এবং তিনি হারিয়ে গেছেন। এই

জিনিসটাকে তিনি ভাগ্য বলে অভিহিত করেছেন। আরো বলেন বৃক্ষটি বাহিরের পরিবেশ নিয়ে আর কবি ভিতরের পরিবেশ এর সাথে

সম্পর্ক যুক্ত ও সমস্যাগ্রস্থ। তিনি বৃক্ষকে একজন উপদেষ্টা নয় বরং একজন সঙ্গী বা ক্ষতিগ্রস্ত সাথী হিসেবে দেখেন। প্রকৃ তির সঙ্গে কবির ঘনিষ্ঠ

সংযোগ, কতিাটির প্রধান বিষয়। কবির জানালার পাশের গাছটির পাতায় পাতায় বাতাসের খেলা কবির চেতন, অবচেতন মন জুড়ে থাকে।

গাছটি দৃশ্য হয়ে বা অদৃশ্য হয়েও কবি মনে তার অস্তিত্ব রাখে। কবি তাই অনুপল গাছটিকে চেতনায় ধারণ করেন।

Summary
“Tree at My Window” differs from most of Frost’s nature poems in its locale. Instead of being out
in the fields or woods, the speaker is looking out his bedroom window at a nearby tree. He closes
his window at night, but out of love for the tree he does not draw the curtain. This is an
unmistakably modern nature poem. Whereas the transcendentalists of the nineteenth century had
regarded nature as profound, the speaker here specifically denies the possibility of the tree
speaking wisdom. Instead, he compares the conditions of human and tree. He has seen the tree
“taken and tossed” by storm, and if the tree can be imagined as having looked in at him asleep, it
has seen him “taken and swept/ and all but lost.” That which brought them together is styled
“fate”—but an imaginative fate, because of their respective concerns with “outer” and “inner
weather.”
He sees the tree not as an instructor but as a comrade, a fellow sufferer. Between Frost and the
transcendentalist faith in nature as a teacher lies a scientific revolution that denies the possibility
of “sermons in stones,” and it is clear that the tree is physically, the person only metaphorically,
storm-tossed. This metaphor, an old contrivance of poets, remains a potent one when used as
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freshly as it is here. The speaker’s storm is only a dream, but dreams can be deeply disturbing;
psychologists insist that they may be very significant.

Langston Hughes
The Negro Speakers of Rivers
 Summary
 I have been familiar with a lot of rivers. I have been familiar with rivers that are as old as the
planet itself, older than blood pumping through people's veins.

My soul has become very deep, just like the rivers I know.

I went swimming in the Euphrates River when human civilization was still young and even
sunrises were new. I built my home near the Congo River and its murmuring waters helped
me fall asleep. I saw the Nile and helped build the Pyramids on its shore. And I heard the
Mississippi River sound as if it were singing, when Abraham Lincoln traveled on it to New
Orleans. And I’ve seen the surface of that muddy river, like a person's chest, reflect the
sunset, turning gold.

I've been familiar with a lot of rivers: very old, dark rivers.

My soul has become very deep, just like the rivers I know.

Summary
’The Negro Speaks of Rivers’ by Langston Hughes is told from the perspective of a man who has
seen the great ages of the world alongside the banks of the most important rivers.

The poem begins with the speaker stating that he knows rivers very well. There are a few in
particular he wants to share with the reader. All of them are among the largest and longest on the
planet. They have also all played host to some of the most important historical events and
civilizations on the planet. The speaker has seen humankind’s first moments alongside the
Euphrates, participated in the building of the pyramids, and listened to the Mississippi while
Abraham Lincoln was sibling down it. 

The poem concludes with a repetition of the opening lines, making sure a reader is aware of the
speaker’s deep connection to the bodies of water. 

Themes
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Hughes engages with themes of identity and perseverance in ‘The Negro Speaks of Rivers.’ Both of
these themes are common in Hughes’ poetry. He often emphasizes the history of Black men and
women and what they’ve had to endure throughout the centuries of slavery and discrimination in
America. The poem proudly and directly asserts that Black lineage is strong, longlasting, and worth
celebrating. The speaker spends the poem talking about their experiences throughout time, acting as
a symbol of all Black men and women who have had their power suppressed.

 “The Negro Speaks of Rivers” Themes

Blackness, Perseverance, and Cultural Identity

"The Negro Speaks of Rivers" stretches from the earliest moments of human civilization all
the way to American slavery, emphasizing that black people have both witnessed and
participated in the key moments of human history. In the face of centuries of slavery and
oppression in America, the poem’s speaker asserts the perseverance of black cultural roots.
The poem argues that people of African descent have not simply been present for all of
human history, they have been a guiding force shaping civilization. In this sense, the poem is
an ode to black perseverance.

The speaker of the poem acts as a representative figure. After all, the title is "The Negro
Speaks of River," not "A Negro…" (At the time of the poem’s writing, "Negro" was a
common term that wasn't considered offensive). In this sense, the speaker models how he or
she thinks the black community as a whole should relate to its history and culture.

As an almost mythical figure, the speaker emphasizes the depth of his or her experience,
which turns out to represent the entire history of black people. The speaker has "known
rivers ancient as the world," and "bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young." The
Euphrates is a river in the Middle East associated with an area called the Cradle of
Civilization, where human agriculture first began. As such, the speaker is saying he or she
was present at the very start of human history, implying that black people have helped shape
the world as we know it. Invoking this deep history establishes the fact that black experience
extends as far back as any other people's, creating a profound sense of community and
connection between black people.

In fact, the speaker has "known rivers … older than the flow of human blood in human
veins"—suggesting that black history existed even before human existence. This connects
the speaker to the natural world. On one hand, such a connection could be considered
problematic, since racist discourses often oppose "civilized" white populations to "natural"
or "uncivilized" black peoples. (Because of these racist ideas, Hughes himself veered away
from such characterizations in his later work.) On the other hand, this connection can be seen
as asserting a sense of wisdom and peace (such as when the Congo "lull[s]" the speaker to
sleep) in the face of slavery and oppression, which the poem alludes to later on.

In addition to the speaker's deep historical experience, he or she has also witnessed recent
events, such as "the singing of the Mississippi"—a river on the American continent,
thousands of miles away from the Euphrates—when "Abe Lincoln went to down to New
Orleans." The line alludes to a famous trip Lincoln took down the Mississippi as a young
man, which exposed him to the evils of slavery. The speaker invokes these examples to show
the breadth of black experience—which includes moments of triumph, like building the
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pyramids, and moments of trial and tribulation, like slavery and the Civil War. In all these
moments, black experience has helped define the course of history.

As the speaker outlines these distant, disparate experiences, he or she stresses that they are
not disconnected events. They form one uninterrupted experience, like a river. Rivers
represent continuity: they cannot be chopped up into discrete chunks. Furthermore, the
speaker’s experience is “deep” like a river, suggesting permanence, perseverance, and inner
strength. Black people have persevered through the most difficult times. Like a river, black
history keeps flowing.

This argument holds special importance for the American black community for two related
reasons. First, the slave trade cut off black people from their homes, their cultures, their
families—and, ultimately, their history. Yet the speaker asserts a continuous history despite
that cutting-off. Second, American narratives of history have usually focused on white
people, effectively erasing black experience. So, in presenting the speaker’s knowledge as
stretching across continents and historical periods, the poem portrays a different narrative—
one that acknowledges black history.

The speaker argues that black identity and accomplishment are so powerful they can cross
the gaps that slavery created, reconnecting with lost ancestors and traditions. In this way, the
poem proudly portrays the depth of black historical experience.

I,Too,Sing America
Racism and American Identity
“I, Too” is a cry of protest against American racism. Its speaker, a black man, laments the way that
he is excluded from American society—even though he is a key part of it. But, the speaker argues,
black people have persevered—and will persevere—through the injustices of racism and segregation
by developing a vibrant, beautiful, and independent cultural tradition, a cultural tradition so
powerful that it will eventually compel white society to recognize black contributions to American
life and history.

Throughout the poem, the speaker insists that he is authentically American and that his community
has made important contributions to American life. The speaker begins by announcing, “I, too, sing
America.” This is an allusion to a poem by Walt Whitman, “I Hear America Singing.” In that poem,
Whitman describes America as a song, which emerges from a diverse chorus of workers, farmers
and industrial labors, women and men.

However, Whitman notably does not include black people in his vision of American life. Even
though the poem was written in 1855, just five years before the Civil War started, he doesn’t
mention slavery at all. The speaker objects to Whitman’s poem, insisting that black people
contribute to the American “song”: in other words, that black culture and black labor have been key
to creating America.

The poem argues that these contributions have been consciously erased by white people. In the
poem’s second stanza, the speaker notes that he is forced to “eat in the kitchen / when company
comes.” This is an extended metaphor for segregation. It describes the way that white people treat
black people and black contributions to American culture.
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The speaker also suggests that white and black communities are quite intimate with each other. The
speaker is “the darker brother”—in other words, he’s part of the same family—the American family
—as the white people who force him to eat in the kitchen. Despite this intimacy, however, the white
members of this metaphorical family force him out of view when other people are around, when
they have “company.” In other words, the extended metaphor highlights the hypocrisy of white
communities: even though white and black people are part of the same American family, white
people exclude, neglect, and ignore black contributions to American history and culture.

Despite being treated like a second-class citizen, the speaker responds to injustice by declaring that
he will “laugh,” “eat well,” and “grow strong.” In other words, black people respond to racism and
segregation by developing vibrant and independent cultural traditions. These traditions give them
strength so that, in the future, white people will no longer be able to ignore their contributions to
American culture—“they’ll see how beautiful I am,” the speaker announces in line 16. Further, as a
result of this strength and beauty, white people will no longer be able to exclude the “darker
brother” from the table. Segregation itself will break down.

The poem thus argues that racism involves a willful refusal to acknowledge that black people as just
as American as anyone else. And it argues that this refusal will eventually cause the collapse of
racism. The poem encourages black people to persevere, to deepen and extend their contributions to
American life and culture until those contributions are impossible to ignore.

Summary:
The speaker claims that he, too, sings America. He is the “darker brother” who is sent to eat in the
kitchen when there are guests visiting. However, he does laugh and he eats well and grows bigger
and stronger. Tomorrow, he will sit at the table when the guests come, and no one will dare to tell
him to eat in the kitchen. They will see his beauty and be ashamed, for, as he claims, “I, too, am
America.”

Analysis:
The poem “I, Too” is also known as “I, Too, Sing America,” and was initially titled “Epilogue”
when it appeared in The Weary Blues, the 1926 volume of Langston Hughes's poetry. It has been
anthologized repeatedly and scholars have written about it many times. It is written in free verse and
features short lines and simple language.

Hughes wrote "I, Too" from the perspective of an African American man - either a slave, a free man
in the Jim Crow South, or even a domestic servant. The lack of a concrete identity or historical
context does not mitigate the poem’s message; in fact, it confers on it a high degree of universality,
for the situation Hughes describes in the poem reflects a common experience for many African
Americans during his time.

The speaker begins by declaring that he too can “sing America,” meaning that he is claiming his
right to feel patriotic towards America, even though he is the “darker” brother who cannot sit at the
table and must eat in the kitchen. This alludes to the common practice of racial segregation during
the early 20th century, when African Americans faced discrimination in nearly every aspect of their
lives. They were forced to live, work, eat and travel separately from their white counterparts, had
few civil or legal rights, were often victims of racial violence, and faced economic marginalization
in both the North and the South. One critic identifies the opening lines of the poem as illustrative of
W.E.B. DuBois’s theory of “double-consciousness":
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It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self
through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused
contempt and pity. One ever feels his two-ness,—an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts,
two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps
it from being torn asunder.

The speaker does not languish in despair, however. He proclaims that "tomorrow" he will join the
others at the table and no one will dare send him back to the kitchen. Not only that, but the "others"
will see “how beautiful” the speaker is and will therefore feel ashamed. This statement is extremely
hopeful and optimistic. The speaker demonstrates a heightened sense of self and proclaims his
ambition to assert his legitimacy as a an American citizen and as a man.

The invocation of America is important, for Hughes is expressing his belief that African Americans
are a valuable part of the country's population and that he foresees a racially equal society in the
near future. Many critics believe that "I, Too" is an unofficial response to the great poet Walt
Whitman’s poem, “I Hear America Singing.” This is likely given Hughes’s expressed affinity for
Whitman's work, as well as the similarity between the titles and choice of words. In Whitman’s
poem, a variety of Americans - including a mechanic, carpenter, boatman, and mother - sing
joyfully about America. Hughes suggests that even though the circumstances are different for
African Americans, they also deserve to experience patriotism.

The Weary Blues

Themes
The Pain and Beauty of Black Art
“The Weary Blues” is about the power and pain of black art. The poem describes a black
blues singer playing in a bar in Harlem late into the night, whose music channels the pain of
living in a racist society. For the speaker, this music is a kind of relief: the speaker finds it
soothing, even healing, to hear such sorrow transformed into song. But it doesn’t have the
same effect on the blues singer himself, for whom channeling so much pain and suffering is
exhausting. This tension allows the poem to reflect on both oppression and creativity: it
suggests how marginalized people may find solace and power in art, without shying away
from how emotionally taxing that creative process can be. In other words, it honors the
beauty of black art while also acknowledging the weight of the pain that led to its creation.

For the speaker of “The Weary Blues,” the blues is more than just music—it conveys the
suffering and injustice that black people have endured living in a racist society. The music
that the speaker hears is full of pain, and described as both “melancholy” and “sad.” Even
the piano that the blues singer plays seems to “moan”—as though it were crying out in
anguish. As the speaker notes in line 15, this music comes “from a black man’s soul.” The
pain it expresses is thus specifically tied to the pain of the black experience and to the trials
of life in a racist society. Its pleasure thus comes from the way it negotiates and transforms
that pain.
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Listening to the blues singer, the speaker experiences a kind of relief and release.
Throughout the first stanza, he cries out, “O Blues!” and “Sweet Blues!” In these moments,
the music seems to transport the speaker, eliciting cries of rapture and pleasure. Music offers
both an acknowledgment of and an escape from the speaker’s own troubles—which may
explain why the speaker is so absorbed in the performance. In this way, the poem subtly
suggests that musical traditions like the blues help black people resist and endure racism.

But the poem is also attentive to the costs of making and playing such painful music. The
singer does not share in the speaker’s release. When the blues singer gets home after playing
all night, he sleeps “like a rock or a man that’s dead.” Literally speaking, the simile just
suggests that the singer is very tired—and that he sleeps deeply. But the simile’s
implications and undertones are a bit darker. They suggest that, for the blues singer, it’s so
painful and difficult to play this music that, by the time he’s done, he’s almost dead.
Expressing his pain has, in a way, been sucking the life out of him.

“The Weary Blues” thus celebrates the blues as a way of expressing black suffering and as a
means of escaping and resisting a racist society. But it also carefully documents the costs of
such resistance—the way that it drains and diminishes the artists who channel and express
such suffering. Further, “The Weary Blues” isn’t just a description of blues music: the poem
itself takes on the form and rhythms of the blues. In writing the poem, Hughes mines the
suffering of his community—and takes the weight of that suffering on himself. At the same
time, he offers the poem as a source of celebration and pleasure, perhaps hoping the reader
will experience the same relief and release that the speaker does.

Summary
The poem begins with a speaker telling someone about a piano player he heard a couple nights ago.
This musician was playing a slow blues song with all his body and soul. The speaker starts to really
get into the sad music. Starting at line 19, we get the first verse to the song. This musician is singing
about how, even though he's miserable, he's going to put his worries aside. The second verse is more
of a bummer: nothing can cure his blues, and he wishes he was dead. The musician plays on late
into the night; and when he finally goes to bed, he sleeps like a dead person or something else that
can't think.

Harlem
 “Harlem” Summary
 The speaker asks what happens to a vision or hope of a community, when this vision or hope
is continuously put off or delayed.

The speaker asks: will that dream wither away and shrivel up like fruit left out in the sun? Or
will it putrefy like a painful, infected wound and then leak out pus? Will it smell disgusting,
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like meat that's gone bad? Or will it become like a gooey candy that gets all crusty and
crystallized?

The speaker proposes a fifth possibility: that the unfulfilled dream will simply weigh the
dreamers down as they have to continue to bear it.

Finally, the speaker offers a last alternative: maybe the dream will burst outward with energy
and potency, demanding to be recognized and accounted for.

 “Harlem” Themes
The Cost of Social Injustice

Hughes wrote "Harlem" in 1951, more than a decade before the Civil Rights Act of 1964. He
was also writing in the aftermath of the 1935 and 1943 Harlem riots, both of which were
triggered by segregation, pervasive unemployment, and police brutality in the black
community.

Hughes's poem responds to this context. The title, “Harlem,” places the poem in this
historically black and immigrant neighborhood in New York City, while the "dream" could
be any dream that those in Harlem have had: a dream for a better life, for opportunity, for
equality—most broadly, for access to the American Dream itself.

But, as the poem tells readers, this dream has been continuously put off (specifically, by the
policies that made black Americans second class citizens). The poem makes it clear,
however, that a “dream deferred” by injustice doesn’t simply disappear. Instead, that dream
must be accounted for sooner or later. Inevitably, the poem suggests, there will be a vast
societal reckoning as the dreamers claim what is rightfully their own.

At first, though, the speaker addresses the idea that deferring a dream may lessen the dream
itself, making it feel ever more unreachable as it fades away. The poem suggests that the
deferred dream could “dry up” or “fester like a sore”; it might “stink like rotten meat … Or
crust and sugar over / like a syrupy sweet." Each of these images suggests something
spoiling, losing potency, or outright decaying—which is perhaps exactly the outcome a
racist society, hoping to maintain the status quo, might want; such a society wants to see this
dream of racial equality lose its bite and scab over.

Each comparison also makes palpable what it might feel like to have a dream that can’t be
realized because of injustice. These images all imply the cost faced by black people forced to
bear this injustice like a painful, infected "sore." Later, the speaker wonders if that dream
"just sags / like a heavy load." In other words, maybe this dream of equality just forever
weighs on communities like Harlem, dragging them down rather than lifting them up.

But then the speaker proposes an entirely different outcome for this dream, asking, “Or does
it explode?” This image of explosion brings to mind the Harlem riots of 1935 and 1943. It
could also refer to the explosion of the dream itself, in the sense that the American Dream
could be “exploded,” or shown to be hollow or false. Most importantly, the final question
shifts from images of the dream withering away, festering, and sagging—all experiences that
would impact those most targeted by injustice—to an image of the dream “explod[ing]”
outward. All of society, this final question implies, will have to reckon with the dream, as, in
its energy, vitality, and righteousness, it claims its due.
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Where this theme appears in the poem:

The Individual and the Community

“Harlem” can be read in two ways at once: the deferred dream in the poem can be
interpreted as a collective, social dream—the dream of an entire group of people—and it
may also be interpreted as an individual dream. In fact, the poem suggests that individual
and collective dreams are intricately connected. Ultimately, the poem implies that individual
dreams cannot be realized without the realization of the larger, collective dream of equality.

Perhaps most obviously, the poem can be read as being about the deferral of a collective
dream. The title, “Harlem,” frames the poem as being about the experience of an entire
community—that of Harlem. The dream, then, implicitly, is the dream of this neighborhood
and group of people. In the poem, the dream is also described with the singular “it,”
suggesting that the dream is the same throughout the poem and that there is one, primary
dream continuously at stake. Given the title, this suggests that throughout the poem, the
dream described is the dream of Harlem as a whole.

At the same time, however, the poem can be read as about the deferral of individual dreams
—that is, the hopes and desires of single people within this community. The poem compares
the deferred dream to things that an individual would experience. A “raisin in the sun” is a
tiny thing that a single person might observe; similarly, “a sore” is something an individual
would endure. An individual might encounter the “stink of rotten meat” or have to bear “a
heavy load.” These comparisons suggest that the dream in the poem could be an individual
dream, or many individual dreams, and the deferral of these dreams is experienced on a
personal, immediate scale.

The use of “a dream” instead of “the dream” further suggests that the dream could be
interpreted in different ways, including on the individual level. The word “the” is often used
with proper nouns, or to convey something that is singular, public, or widely known.
Conversely, “a” suggests that the dream is one of many dreams, not the only one. This
supports the idea that the dream could be an individual dream, or one of many individual
dreams.

The historical context of the poem also supports these two readings. “Harlem” was written in
1951, during the era of Jim Crow segregation and the early period of the Civil Rights
Movement. It was also written in the aftermath of World War II, when black Americans
fought in the United States military—to defeat Nazism and to defend American visions of
equality and liberty— but were forced to do so within segregated ranks. The sense of a
collective dream of equality, and the deferral of this dream, was intensely present.

The persistence of systemic racism also meant that many individual dreams of black
Americans could not be realized. For example, a black family might dream of buying a
home, but racist policies like discriminatory lending practices and redlining made this
virtually impossible.

Within this context, many individual dreams could literally not be realized without the
realization of a larger, collective dream of equality and Civil Rights. By making both
individual and collective experience present within in the poem, “Harlem” reflects and
comments on this reality, suggesting that the deferral of the collective dream of equality is
felt and carried on a palpable, human scale.
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