What is Drastic + Dramatic

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Doubt, Dear Lady

I just wrote this poem for my English Literature class. It's based off a line in the novel we just read, Jane Eyre. Here is how I prefaced the poem in my essay:

The story goes, that our heroin, Jane, is returning to a former home and to her, a former life, after having hastily abandoned it a year prior. She sought her old master, Mr. Edward Rochester, whom she loved more than can quite justifiably be explained in a couple words of a sentence. Only reader of the whole story can understand Jane’s devotion and unique connection to this man twenty years her elder.
As she reaches the end of her return journey, entering the town nearest his home, she has the temptation to inquire what has become of Mr. Rochester and what she might expect before walking the last two miles to his home. Suspended in hesitation she rightfully counsels herself thus:
“I so dreaded a reply that would crush me with despair. To prolong doubt was to prolong hope” (490).

Soft the look in thy down-turned eye,
Aye, softer the color in cheek;
Pale is the hope, that would shine
Through thy smooth skin,
Compared to thy will to seek
Thy lover’s gaze once again.

Waiting soon tires of sitting
So pacing the lane you begin;
An embrace would be better fitting
As nourishment for mind
And body, rendered so thin
By worry that has thy brow lined.

From my window I see thee;
Oui, ma cherie, qui tu cherches est là.*
My own gaze impossible to free
From thy soliloquizing form.
Would that thy eyes I could draw
To mine; Calm thy inner storm.

A man approaching upon steed
You recognize not, for sure,
Eyes lowered further indeed
Thy tears to be concealed.
My own servant on horse it were;
To thee, truth could he have revealed.

But to ask would require thought,
To form a question you dare not;
And fear of the answer bought
Thy silence and delayed discovery;
The hope for which thou hast fought,
Suspended, caged, in thy reverie.

Doubt, dear lady, doubt on.
Let no voice but mine
Enter thy tired ear anon;
My touch only convince thee
That for thee as well I pine.
Hold doubt ‘til thy hope I set free.

It was very fun to finally write a poem that directly stemmed from another author's work. Usually I merely inhale floating ideas and run with them, but this one had to be written and I'm glad I got it out...even with a rough rhyme scheme.

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