This week’s choice is also by E. Nesbit, and it’s “St. Valentine’s Day.” I have chosen it for my lovely Rachel, for her daughter Emily and her fiancé Forrest who have just booked their wedding date and venue and for Andy & Tracey, friends who recently announced their engagement.
White palaces wrought for love
E. Nesbit (1858—1924)
Gleam white between tree and tree,
But under bare boughs Is the little house
Warm-lit for my love and me.
Poem 425. St. Valentine’s Day
The South is a dream of flowers
With a jewel for sky and sea,
Rose-crowns for the dancing hours,
Gold fruits upon every tree;
But cold from the North The wind blows forth
That blows my love to me.
The stars in the South are gold
Like lamps between sky and sea;
The flowers that the forests hold.
Like stars between tree and tree;
But little and white Is the pale moon’s light
That lights my love to me.
In the South the orange grove
Makes dusk by the dusky sea,
White palaces wrought for love
Gleam white between tree and tree,
But under bare boughs Is the little house
Warm-lit for my love and me.
I think this is a lovely poem. Nesbit contrasts the warmth and beauty of the south with the Spartan north and concludes that for all its frigidity and starkness, she prefers the north.
The poem splits into three distinct parts. The first part describes the flowers and colours of southern lands: golden fruits, the beautiful colour of the sea and cloudless skies, and the gorgeous panoply of coloured blossom; the north is, however, characterised as cold and windy—a stark contrast, but the winds bring her beloved closer.
The second part speaks of the stars shining like beautiful golden lanterns in the southern skies and likens the flowers of the forest to them; the northern moon by contrast is pale and meagre, throwing only shadows, but it is enough to show her beloved the way to her.
The third part speaks longingly of the stout orange trees in groves and the bright white houses built between the trees but concludes that her house in the north, though sheltered only by bare branches, is preferable because it is warm inside for her and her love.
I like this poem because it is so visual: we can almost see the flowers, the jewel-like sea glinting in the sunshine, the bright stars, and the orange groves; we can also visualise very clearly the barren north land even though they are sparsely described—perhaps a conscious decision on Nesbit’s part to describe the south as voluptuously as possible while the north is dealt with sparingly. Like last week’s choice, there is only one performance of the poem by Ghizela Rowe on YouTube’s Edith Nesbit — Topic channel.