The Moods have laid their hands across my hair:
The Moods have drawn their fingers through my heart;
My hair shall never more lie smooth and bright,
But stir like tide-worn sea-weed, and my heart
Shall never more be glad of small sweet things,-
A wild rose, or a crescent moon,-a book
Of little verses, or a dancing child.
My heart turns crying from the rose and book,
My heart turns crying from the thin bright moon,
And weeps with useless sorrow for the child.
The Moods have loosed a wind to vex my hair,
And made my heart too wise, that was a child.
Now I shall blow like smitten candle-flame:
I shall desire all things that may not be:
The years, the stars, the souls of ancient men,
All tears that must, and smiles that may not be,—
Yes, glimmering lights across a windy ford,
And vagrant voices on a darkened plain,
And holy things, and outcast things, and things,
Far too remote, frail-bodied to be plain.
My pity and my joy are grown alike.
I cannot sweep the strangeness from my heart.
The Moods have laid swift hands across my hair:
The Moods have drawn swift fingers through my heart.
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Comments
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Take out the lines after the first three lines of the first verse and I think this piece would be a lot better. The repetition is a killer in this piece. It made my mind wander from the picturesque emotional pull of the first three lines.
I really liked the second verse as its own entity and the third just seemed to be the first verse just laid out as a finish with the wrap-up of the last line.
My opinion.
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This is the type of poem that ends an evening with pleasure. Here are the twistings of words, images and meanings meant to be slowly unwrapped--to reveal the "voice" of an older person reflecting on her life. There are familiar lines used (example: "I shall desire all things that may not be"), but Davis takes the known and adds richness to it. I love the use of Mood throughout the poem. Each one is slightly different, yet reveals the constant theme of aging (of pending departure). There is the mix of the innocent to the mature (..."and made my heart to wise, that was a child."). I'm sure there is a specific technique used for the type of poem, and plan to seek it out. There is alot of repetition of words/images, almost chant-like. The poem makes no apologies for what has been witnessed throughout the poet's life, rather, there is a level of reflection and resignation to the "rite of passage" that must be. The "Moods" seem to have cleared the poet's vision to the condition of her heart, bringing about moments of pity and joy in a balance.
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