Longing
By Helene MacArthur
Here in the West when the sun
Sinks down behind the purpling hills,
And the twilight creeps
Up the eastern steeps
And all grows calm and still,
Love’s golden star
’Bove the sunset bar
Shines clear through the tender blue.
Then my heart awakes with a thrill and takes
Me away, dear heart, to you.
(1921)
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Perhaps I’m just feeling a little wistful today, but when I read this I thought of the Portuguese word saudade, a word difficult to translate, but which means approximately a longing for a time or person or place. NPR put together a nice collection of music on the theme recently:
Saudade: An Untranslatable, Undeniably Potent Word
Nice sentiment, but is it just me that I have only seen a word like “purpling,” or a contraction like “‘Bove” in maudlin poetry where the author takes all sorts of liberties with the English language just to fit a specific pattern of rhyme or cadence?
Kevinf, I think this may simply be a question of how long ago this poem was written, and different tastes.
I don’t claim this is great poetry, even for 1921, but I suspect a lot of your reaction is more about how our tastes today are influenced.
Remember, at one point Lord Bulwer-Lytton was widely considered one of the best novelists in English.
Interesting, Amy. My first thought was of “Sehnsucht.”