This week’s poem is “Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson and I have chosen it for Ingrid: a poet, painter and friend who is fond of Tennyson’s poetry.
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809—1892)
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font.
The firefly wakens; waken thou with me.
Poem 448. Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font.
The firefly wakens; waken thou with me.
Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.
Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.
Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.
Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake.
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.
This fourteen-line poem looks like a sonnet, but it doesn’t follow either of the standard organisations for sonnets and it doesn’t rhyme. It more closely resembles the ghazal, a Persian form of love poem. It is part of a longer work, The Princess, and is spoken aloud by the eponymous princess, Ida. It’s quite suggestive.
As dusk falls and flowers close (“Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white”), desire awakens in the princess’s heart and she wishes her beloved to awaken to and address her needs—“The firefly wakens; waken thou with me”—she is not rousing her lover from sleep; she wishes to arouse him.
The princess reminds us of the peacock, the symbol of gaudy and overt sexual display, though this is tempered by its ghostly nature: rather than a brash exhibition, a gentle glimmering is suggested. There seems to be a sexual metaphor here: the drooping of the “milk-white peacock” which “glimmers” suggests the conclusion of the sexual act.
A classical reference next: Danaë (also a princess and the mother of Perseus) was seduced by Zeus in the form of a shower of gold and Princess Ida suggests just as Danaë was open to the god, the Earth lies open to the stars with the fall of dusk and her lover’s heart is just as open to her.
The princess describes her thoughts of her lover: she imagines a “shining furrow” as one left by a meteor as it courses across the sky. Perhaps this is another sexual reference although the ever-present shade of Freud hints that I may be imagining a little too freely.
Just as the lily folds itself neatly and conceals itself and its scent within the lake, so should her beloved entwine with her—“So fold thyself, my dearest, thou. and slip/Into my bosom”—and lose himself (and herself) in bliss.
I like it because it expresses desire and hints at the fulfilment of such desire so well, and the phrases Tennyson uses are so beautifully put: “the gold fin in the porphyry font” is a gorgeous image and so is “slides the silent meteor on”.
I found a performance of the poem by Sir Stephen Fry on The Poetry Archive. I’ve drawn on Dr Oliver Tearle’s analysis of the poem at Interesting Literature for this article, and it is an interesting and much more illuminating read. This poem was chosen for Ingrid, with whom we had a very interesting and long conversation about poetry and writing last Sunday. She has a Facebook and Instagram pages (which you will have to search for) and a Substack if you’d like to know more. I know that she’s fond of Tennyson’s works, so here’s one for you Ingrid.