Dejection: An Ode by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Poem, Summary & Analysis)

Dejection: An Ode

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

(Poem, Summary & Analysis)

  

Samuel Taylor Coleridge was born in 1772. He was one of the most influential and controversial figures of the Romantic period. He was the son of a clergyman in Ottery St Mary, Devon. His career as a poet and writer was established after he befriended Wordsworth and together, they produced Lyrical Ballads in 1798.

For most of his adult life, he suffered through addiction to laudanum and opium. His most famous works – 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner', 'Kubla Khan' and 'Christabel' – all featured supernatural themes and exotic images, perhaps affected by his use of the drugs.

Coleridge was as much a prose and theoretical writer as he was a poet, as revealed in his major work, Biographia Literaria, published in 1817. Coleridge's legacy has been tainted with accusations of plagiarism, both in his poetry and critical essays. He also had a propensity for leaving projects unfinished and suffered from large debts. But such was the originality of his early work, that his place and influence within the Romantic period is undisputed.

Dejection: An Ode

(The Poem)

Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,

With the old Moon in her arms;

And I fear, I fear, my Master dear!

We shall have a deadly storm.

(Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence)

I

Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made

The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,

This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence

Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade

Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes,

Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes

Upon the strings of this Æolian lute,

Which better far were mute.

For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!

And overspread with phantom light,

(With swimming phantom light o'erspread

But rimmed and circled by a silver thread)

I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling

The coming-on of rain and squally blast.

And oh! that even now the gust were swelling,

And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!

Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,

And sent my soul abroad,

Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,

Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live!

II

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,

A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,

Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,

In word, or sigh, or tear—

O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood,

To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd,

All this long eve, so balmy and serene,

Have I been gazing on the western sky,

And its peculiar tint of yellow green:

And still I gaze—and with how blank an eye!

And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,

That give away their motion to the stars;

Those stars, that glide behind them or between,

Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen:

Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew

In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;

I see them all so excellently fair,

I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!

III

My genial spirits fail;

And what can these avail

To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?

It were a vain endeavour,

Though I should gaze for ever

On that green light that lingers in the west:

I may not hope from outward forms to win

The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.

IV

O Lady! we receive but what we give,

And in our life alone does Nature live:

Ours is her wedding garment, ours her shroud!

And would we aught behold, of higher worth,

Than that inanimate cold world allowed

To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,

Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth

A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud

Enveloping the Earth—

And from the soul itself must there be sent

A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,

Of all sweet sounds the life and element!

V

O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me

What this strong music in the soul may be!

What, and wherein it doth exist,

This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,

This beautiful and beauty-making power.

Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given,

Save to the pure, and in their purest hour,

Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower,

Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power,

Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower

A new Earth and new Heaven,

Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud—

Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud—

We in ourselves rejoice!

And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,

All melodies the echoes of that voice,

All colours a suffusion from that light.

VI

There was a time when, though my path was rough,

This joy within me dallied with distress,

And all misfortunes were but as the stuff

Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness:

For hope grew round me, like the twining vine,

And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.

But now afflictions bow me down to earth:

Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth;

But oh! each visitation

Suspends what nature gave me at my birth,

My shaping spirit of Imagination.

For not to think of what I needs must feel,

But to be still and patient, all I can;

And haply by abstruse research to steal

From my own nature all the natural man—

This was my sole resource, my only plan:

Till that which suits a part infects the whole,

And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.

VII

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,

Reality's dark dream!

I turn from you, and listen to the wind,

Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream

Of agony by torture lengthened out

That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav'st without,

Bare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted tree,

Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,

Or lonely house, long held the witches' home,

Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,

Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers,

Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers,

Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than wintry song,

The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among.

Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!

Thou mighty Poet, e'en to frenzy bold!

What tell'st thou now about?

'Tis of the rushing of an host in rout,

With groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds—

At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold!

But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence!

And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd,

With groans, and tremulous shudderings—all is over—

It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud!

A tale of less affright,

And tempered with delight,

As Otway's self had framed the tender lay,—

'Tis of a little child

Upon a lonesome wild,

Nor far from home, but she hath lost her way:

And now moans low in bitter grief and fear,

And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear.

VIII

'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep:

Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!

Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,

And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,

May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,

Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!

With light heart may she rise,

Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,

Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice;

To her may all things live, from pole to pole,

Their life the eddying of her living soul!

O simple spirit, guided from above,

Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice,

Thus mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice.

Summary

Dejection: An Ode was written by ST Coleridge on the 4th of April, 1802 when Dorothy and William were on a visit to Keswick. It is a personal poem, in which the poet expresses the distress of his soul. The poet bewails, that he has lost the creative energy, which Nature had given him at the time of birth. There was a time, when Coleridge had great creative power and wrote his three most powerful poems -The Ancient Mariner, Kubla Khan, and Christabel. But that time is past now; domestic misfortunes, his habit of taking opium and his weakness of will destroyed his poetic powers and the poet realizes that now he cannot compose great poetry as he used to do in the past. This Ode is an expression of these feelings which found an outlet in many of his letters also.

The poem begins with a quotation from the grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spenser in which it is stated that the presence of the old moon in the lap of the new moon foretells the coming on of rain and storm. At this moment Coleridge sees the old moon in the lap of the new moon and says that if the poet who wrote the ballad of Sir Patrick Spenser was correct in his forecast of weather this night, which is so peaceful and quiet at this time will not end without being roused by winds, and the coming on of rain and storm. As the poet is thinking like this the wind develops into a storm and the rain starts falling fast in a slanting direction, producing a loud noise. These sounds of rain and storm, which had often raised his spirits and inspired him in the past, might also produce the same sensations in him today, and might awaken this dull pain and make it move and live.

Coleridge’s invocation of “Lady” suggests, that his pain is the result of a broken heart and signals, that this poem is a conversation with this Lady (who represents Sara Hutchinson). In his grief, Coleridge says, that he has been endlessly gazing at the skies and the stars. He claims, that he is so overwhelmed with sadness, that he can only see and can no longer feel the beauty of nature.

Coleridge doubts, that anything can “lift the smothering weight from off my breast.” He admits, that gazing at the beauty of the skies is a vain and futile effort to ease his pain. He realizes, that “outward forms” will not relieve him of his inner pain and that only he has the power to change his emotional state.

Coleridge once again addresses his Lady, telling her that although some things are inevitable in life and controlled by nature, a person must still be an active agent in creating his or her own happiness.

Coleridge describes the characteristics of the feeling of Joy to his Lady. He extols the powers of Joy, which can create beauty as well as create a “new Earth and new Heaven.”

Coleridge reflects on a time, when joy was able to surmount his distress. During that time, he was able to take advantage of the hope (that was not his own internal hope), that surrounded him in nature. However, the distress he feels now is much more dominating. He no longer cares, that all his happiness is gone. However, he does lament how each small “visitation” of sadness robs him of his power of Imagination. Since Coleridge cannot feel any emotion other than sadness, his imagination would have at least allowed him to “steal” the happiness, that surrounded him in nature and thus pretend, that he possesses joy.

Coleridge now turns his attention to the tumultuous weather. Within this raging storm, he is able to hear the less frightful sounds of a child looking for her mother.

Although it is now midnight, Coleridge has no intention of going to sleep. However, he wishes for “Sleep” to visit his Lady and to use its healing powers to lift the Lady’s spirits and bring her joy. Coleridge concludes the poem by wishing the Lady eternal joy.

Analysis

The stanzas of “Dejection” are metered in iambic lines ranging in length from trimeter to pentameter. The poem, "Dejection" was originally a "verse letter" to Sara Hutchinson, a woman, with whom Coleridge was desperately in love. Hutchinson is not mentioned directly, however, perhaps because at the time of the poem's publication Coleridge was (unhappily) married to Sara Fricker. Coleridge was inspired to write it upon hearing the opening lines of Wordsworth's "Ode: Intimations of Immortality." In his own poem, Coleridge echoes Wordsworth's themes of disillusionment in love and the loss of imaginative powers.

Coleridge makes use of concrete imagery and comparison to describe the atmosphere and the state of his mind accurately and vividly. Describing the nature of the storm, that is raging out-side, the poet says, that the more appropriate places for such type of storm are a bare cock, a mountain lake, a high Pinegrove, or a haunted house.

The poet uses vigorous and forceful imagery to describe the sounds produced by the storm, which are compared to the mad rushing to a defeated army, with the groans and cries of trampled and wounded soldiers all round. He compares these sounds of the storm with the frightened screaming of a terrified child who has lost its way home and wandering in a lonely forest near its home.

Coleridge’s mention of the healing powers of sleep in the last stanza and his claim that he will not go to sleep tonight (and most likely cannot because of his depression) both suggest that dreams offer a portal to happiness. This implication could be the reason why Coleridge wishes for his beloved Lady to have a peaceful night of sleep.