Forlorn — Alfred, Lord Tennyson by Alfred Tennyson (Poem, Summary, Paraphrase & Analysis)

 

Forlorn — Alfred, Lord Tennyson

by Alfred Tennyson

(Poem, Summary, Paraphrase & Analysis) 

Forlorn — Alfred, Lord Tennyson

I.

I wander'd lonely where the pine-trees made

A music of their own, and Autumn laid

Her golden finger on the fading year;

And soft upon the tarn the dusk drew near.

I linger'd, musing: how the dying day

Drank all the light and colour! Far away

The mountains darken'd, fold on cloudy fold,

And dimmer grew the forests green and gold.

Then from the silent heath and silent sky

A sound came stealing gently, like a sigh,

As if the earth were breathing in her sleep,

Or whispering dreams she had no strength to keep.

 

II.

I wander'd lonely; but within me stirr'd

A deeper loneliness. I had not heard

The voice that cheer'd me once, nor seen the face

Whose smile had thrown a sunlight on the place.

The chill wind smote me, and the leaves were shed;

I thought of all the hopes my heart had fed—

The tender blossoms that had died too soon,

The tender fancies faded like the moon.

And once again that faint mysterious sigh

Came from the silent heath and silent sky,

As if the world, grown weary of her pain,

Would sleep, and never wake to toil again.

 

III.

Then, standing by the tarn, I call'd aloud

On Him who walks the tempest and the cloud:

“Father, O Father, if Thy gracious will

Be peace, not wrath, O speak the word—Be still!”

But answer came not. Only on the lake

The ripple widen'd, and the sedges shake;

And still that sigh, like sorrow half-supprest,

Grew faint and fainter through the lonely West,

Until the darkness deepen'd to eclipse,

And silence seal'd the world with iron lips.

I wander'd homeward through the moaning glen,

Forlorn among the shadowy homes of men.

 

Summary

A lone traveler moved slowly through a forest of tall pines. Their needles whispered above him in a music the world had forgotten. Autumn had already touched the land, brushing every tree with its golden fingers. The year was dying, and the traveler could feel it in the chill of the wind.

He stopped beside a still tarn—half lake, half mirror—and watched the day fade. Light drained from the sky; colours folded into shadow. The distant mountains closed themselves in darker shapes, like great animals curling up to sleep. Forests of green and gold dimmed until they became only outlines.

And then—soft as breath—he heard a sound. Not from a creature, or wind, or water. A sigh, floating through the heath and across the sky. The earth itself seemed to exhale, dreaming in its sleep.

He walked on, but the loneliness outside awoke a deeper one within. There was once a voice he knew—a voice that had warmed empty places—but it was not here. And there was once a face whose smile brightened even the sternest valleys—but it was lost to him now.

The wind grew colder. Leaves dropped around his feet like memories quietly falling away. He thought of the hopes he once carried, of tender beginnings that never grew, of wishes that faded like the moon after dawn.

Again the sigh came, drifting across the land—gentle, resigned. It seemed as if the very world, tired of its own burdens, longed only to sleep and never wake again.

He reached the tarn once more and called out—not to earth or wind, but to the One who commands the seas and storms.

“Father,” he cried into the gathering dusk, “if peace is still within Your will, speak it! Only say ‘be still!’”

But no voice replied.

Only ripples spread across the water, widening quietly. The reeds shuddered in the breeze. The sigh faded toward the west, weakening until even sorrow could not sustain it. Night arrived in earnest, sealing the sky in black. It felt as though iron lips had closed the world in silence.

The traveler turned away from the tarn. Through the glen he walked, wind moaning in the branches above.

He made his way back to human dwellings—dim lights through distant windows, smoke rising from unseen hearths—yet he felt no companionship there.

Among the homes of men, he remained what the wilderness had already named him: forlorn.

 

Forlorn — Line-by-Line Paraphrase

 

I.

I wander'd lonely where the pine-trees made

-> I walked alone through a forest of tall pines

A music of their own, and Autumn laid

-> Their branches made a sound like their own music, while Autumn touched the land

Her golden finger on the fading year;

-> Painting the dying year with gold

And soft upon the tarn the dusk drew near.

-> Evening gently approached the still lake

I linger'd, musing: how the dying day

-> I paused, thinking about how the day was ending

Drank all the light and colour! Far away

-> The fading daylight swallowed every color; in the distance

The mountains darken'd, fold on cloudy fold,

-> Mountain ridges turned darker, layer upon misty layer

And dimmer grew the forests green and gold.

-> And the forests of green and gold grew faint

Then from the silent heath and silent sky

-> Then from the quiet land and the quiet sky

A sound came stealing gently, like a sigh,

-> A sound slipped softly through the air like a sigh

As if the earth were breathing in her sleep,

-> As though the earth breathed gently while sleeping

Or whispering dreams she had no strength to keep.

-> Or whispering dreams she could not hold onto

 

II.

I wander'd lonely; but within me stirr'd

-> I walked alone, but inside me rose

A deeper loneliness. I had not heard

-> A sadness even stronger; I no longer heard

The voice that cheer'd me once, nor seen the face

-> The comforting voice I once knew, nor seen the face

Whose smile had thrown a sunlight on the place.

-> Whose smile once made everything around seem bright

The chill wind smote me, and the leaves were shed;

-> Cold wind struck me, and leaves fell down

I thought of all the hopes my heart had fed—

-> I remembered all the hopes I once nurtured

The tender blossoms that had died too soon,

-> Gentle beginnings that had died before they grew

The tender fancies faded like the moon.

-> Sweet dreams that vanished like moonlight

And once again that faint mysterious sigh

-> And again that soft, mysterious sigh

Came from the silent heath and silent sky,

-> Drifted out of the silent land and sky

As if the world, grown weary of her pain,

-> As though the world was tired of suffering

Would sleep, and never wake to toil again.

-> And wished to sleep forever, never waking to work again

 

III.

Then, standing by the tarn, I call'd aloud

-> Then, standing beside the lake, I cried out

On Him who walks the tempest and the cloud:

-> To God, who commands storms and clouds

“Father, O Father, if Thy gracious will

-> “Father, if You are willing in Your kindness

Be peace, not wrath, O speak the word—Be still!”

-> Let there be peace instead of punishment—please command it: “Be calm!”

But answer came not. Only on the lake

-> But no reply came; only the lake

The ripple widen'd, and the sedges shake;

-> Spread gentle ripples, and the reeds trembled

And still that sigh, like sorrow half-supprest,

-> And that soft sigh, like sorrow barely held back

Grew faint and fainter through the lonely West,

-> Faded away slowly into the lonely western sky

Until the darkness deepen'd to eclipse,

-> Until darkness thickened like an eclipse

And silence seal'd the world with iron lips.

-> And silence closed the whole world as if with iron

I wander'd homeward through the moaning glen,

-> I walked back home through a valley that groaned with wind

Forlorn among the shadowy homes of men.

-> Feeling abandoned, even among human dwellings in the shadows

 

Analysis

A Still Landscape as an Emotional Mirror

Alfred Lord Tennyson’s Forlorn begins as a meditation on a landscape that mirrors the inner state of the speaker. The setting is quiet, touched by autumn, a season traditionally associated with decline, aging, and transition. The pine trees create a “music of their own,” suggesting nature’s living consciousness, yet it is not a cheerful tune—it is a solitary one that does not welcome human presence. The “golden finger” of autumn marking the year’s end reflects not only the world’s seasonal cycle but the speaker’s psychological one: he stands at a boundary where vitality recedes.

Tennyson is masterful in dissolving boundaries between external and internal worlds. The fading light becomes an emblem of emotional twilight. As dusk draws over the tarn, colours disappear, mountains blur into darkness, and life drains from the scenery. This merger of natural dimming and emotional descent is central to the poem. Nature is not a neutral backdrop—it is a participant in the speaker’s melancholy. To the romantic imagination, the earth has a body and breath of its own; the sigh that rises from heath and sky feels like nature exhaling sorrow. In this moment, Tennyson makes it impossible to tell whether the sadness originates in the landscape or in the wanderer who interprets it.

 

The Deepening of Solitude

In the second section, the poem shifts inward. The speaker is not merely physically isolated; he enters a deeper, more personal loneliness. The absence of a comforting voice and a beloved face reveals a story that the poem never explicitly narrates. Tennyson does not name a death, a departure, or an emotional estrangement, but the emptiness is unmistakable. The beloved’s smile was once capable of throwing “sunlight on the place,” implying that their presence illuminated even otherwise ordinary environments. Without that light, nature loses its splendour. Wind becomes a “chill wind,” and leaves shed themselves like silent reminders of decay. His thoughts turn to hopes that died prematurely—“tender blossoms”—a metaphor that paints aspirations as fragile, young, and easily destroyed.

This stanza shows Tennyson’s psychological realism. The speaker does not mourn the loss alone; he mourns the future he nourished but never lived. The world responds not with consolation but with resignation. The sigh returns, not dramatic or fierce, but weary and patient, as though nature itself is tired of its own sorrow. This shared exhaustion is important: despair is not violent, it is numbing. This is not a storm of grief—it is its aftermath, the slow ache left when grief has already burned everything to ash.

 

A Cry for Divine Intervention

The poem takes a spiritual turn in the final section. The speaker stands beside the tarn and, in his desperation, cries out to God. He invokes a God who is powerful—“who walks the tempest and the cloud”—a God capable of commanding chaos into order. The plea is simple: if God’s will is peace, then let Him speak. Just one word, “Be still,” could calm the turmoil. This request echoes the Gospel of Mark, where Christ calms the storm on the Sea of Galilee. In the poem, however, the biblical intercession never arrives. There is no answering voice, no miracle—only the widening ripples on the water and reeds trembling in the breeze.

Tennyson deliberately denies resolution. The silence is not just an absence of sound; it is active, sealing “the world with iron lips.” The metaphor suggests a sense of divine distance, as if heaven is barred and prayer returns unanswered. This moment does not depict rebellion against God, but a lonely human calling into a universe that seems indifferent. Where many Romantic poets imagine nature as sympathetic or divine, Forlorn portrays nature as sorrowful but powerless. God is invoked but does not intervene. The speaker must walk home through a “moaning glen,” burdened by both nature’s lament and his own.

 

The Meaning of “Forlorn”

The final line crystallizes the poem’s theme. After returning to civilization, the speaker remains “forlorn among the shadowy homes of men.” The village and its houses do not cure loneliness. Humanity itself is a landscape of shadows—another version of the darkened mountains and dimmed forests of the first stanza. The physical proximity of others offers no comfort. The poem insists that being among people and belonging to them are not the same. Isolation can persist even within society.

The title’s word, forlorn, means not merely lonely, but abandoned—left without aid or hope. Tennyson situates this emotion within the natural world, the psychological interior, and the spiritual realm. The speaker is cut off from human companionship, denied consolation by nature, and seemingly unheard by God. This triple estrangement is what gives the poem its aching depth.

 

Conclusion

Forlorn is not a dramatic poem; its power lies in quiet sorrow. Tennyson depicts a mind walking through dusk—light receding, dreams fading, hopes dying gently rather than violently. The outer world and the inner one form a single landscape of decline. The wind, the fallen leaves, and the sighing heath echo a human grief too tired to shout. The poem ends without comfort, without revelation, and without return. In that refusal to offer consolation, Tennyson captures the most universal kind of despair: the sorrow of one who has lost not just a beloved person, but the warmth, meaning, and future that person once made possible.