Friday, May 06, 2005


Edmund Clerihew Bentley (1875-1956) was a man of many accomplishments. He was a mystery writer, (Trent's Last Case) scholar, and journalist. He is most distinguished though as the creator of the clerihew, a form of humorous verse that has been assigned his middle name. The verse about Sir Humphry Davy in Tem42's write up was Bentley's first one written while he was in secondary school. Bored with chemistry class one day he composed the poem to imprecate the famous chemist, Sir Humphrey Davy (1778-1892), who is the discoverer of potassium, calcium, and sodium. Here's another example:

George the Third

    George the Third
    Ought never to have occurred.
    One can only wonder
    At so grotesque a blunder.

George the Third was a monarch in British history who became infamous for a long string of blunders: waging war against the American Independent Movement led by George Washington; meddling with the French Revolution for a prolonged period of time; denying equal opportunities to the Catholic Church; and refusing any ideas about reform.

Similar to, but more complicated than limericks, a good definition that I've read regarding clerihews comes from the Poets' Corner. The best ones have most of these elements in common:

It takes a certain knack to achieve a good clerihew; just the right amount of drollery with a soft touch of humor along with an intimate personal knowledge about the target. But with practice they they can be an entertaining challenge. One night for Halloween I secretly prepared homemade headstones with clerihews about my family and decorated the front yard with them, one said:

    Number One Son
    was out having fun
    Forgot to do his chores
    And is no more.

You can see that the clerihew has the potential of a lot of whimsy and usually very little malice. The next morning it was great fun to peek out the window and see the wry grins from family and neighbors giggling as they got up and went on their way to work and school. Here are some more of these entertaining little verses written by Edmund Clerihew Bentley from his book Biography for Beginners .

Sir Christopher Wren
John Stuart Mill
    What I like about Clive
    Is that he is no longer alive.
    There is a great deal to be said
    For being dead.

Edward the Confessor
Chapman & Hall
    Chapman & Hall
    Swore not at all.
    Mr Chapman's yea was yea,
    And Mr Hall's nay was nay.

Bentley published three collections of clerihews: Biography for Beginners appeared in October 1905, More Biography in 1929 and Baseless Biography in 1939. These publications went onto establish the form and its name by inspiring later well known writers, including W.H. Auden, William Jay Smith and Roy Blount, Jr.



It's hard to precisely define a clerihew.

Public domain text taken from The Poets' Corner.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Goblin Market

MORNING and evening

Maids heard the goblins cry:

"Come buy our orchard fruits,

Come buy, come buy:

Apples and quinces,

Lemons and oranges,

Plump unpeck'd cherries,

Melons and raspberries,

Bloom-down-cheek'd peaches,

Swart-headed mulberries,

Wild free-born cranberries,

Crab-apples, dewberries,

Pine-apples, blackberries,

Apricots, strawberries; -

All ripe together

In summer weather, -

Morns that pass by,

Fair eves that fly;

Come buy, come buy:

Our grapes fresh from the vine,

Pomegranates full and fine,

Dates and sharp bullaces,

Rare pears and greengages,

Damsons and bilberries,

Taste them and try:

Currants and gooseberries,

Bright-fire-like barberries,

Figs to fill your mouth,

Citrons from the South,

Sweet to tongue and sound to eye;

Come buy, come buy."

Evening by evening

Among the brookside rushes,

Laura bow'd her head to hear,

Lizzie veil'd her blushes:

Crouching close together

In the cooling weather,

With clasping arms and cautioning lips,

With tingling cheeks and finger tips.

"Lie close," Laura said,

Pricking up her golden head:

"We must not look at goblin men,

We must not buy their fruits:

Who knows upon what soil they fed

Their hungry thirsty roots?"

"Come buy," call the goblins

Hobbling down the glen.

"Oh," cried Lizzie, "Laura, Laura,

You should not peep at goblin men."

Lizzie cover'd up her eyes,

Cover'd close lest they should look;

Laura rear'd her glossy head,

And whisper'd like the restless brook:

"Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,

Down the glen tramp little men.

One hauls a basket,

One bears a plate,

One lugs a golden dish

Of many pounds weight.

How fair the vine must grow

Whose grapes are so luscious;

How warm the wind must blow

Through those fruit bushes."

"No," said Lizzie, "No, no, no;

Their offers should not charm us,

Their evil gifts would harm us."

She thrust a dimpled finger

In each ear, shut eyes and ran:

Curious Laura chose to linger

Wondering at each merchant man.

One had a cat's face,

One whisk'd a tail,

One tramp'd at a rat's pace,

One crawl'd like a snail,

One like a wombat prowl'd obtuse and furry,

One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry.

She heard a voice like voice of doves

Cooing all together:

They sounded kind and full of loves

In the pleasant weather.

Laura stretch'd her gleaming neck

Like a rush-imbedded swan,

Like a lily from the beck,

Like a moonlit poplar branch,

Like a vessel at the launch

When its last restraint is gone.

Backwards up the mossy glen

Turn'd and troop'd the goblin men,

With their shrill repeated cry,

"Come buy, come buy."

When they reach'd where Laura was

They stood stock still upon the moss,

Leering at each other,

Brother with queer brother;

Signalling each other,

Brother with sly brother.

One set his basket down,

One rear'd his plate;

One began to weave a crown

Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown

(Men sell not such in any town);

One heav'd the golden weight

Of dish and fruit to offer her:

"Come buy, come buy," was still their cry.

Laura stared but did not stir,

Long'd but had no money:

The whisk-tail'd merchant bade her taste

In tones as smooth as honey,

The cat-faced purr'd,

The rat-faced spoke a word

Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard;

One parrot-voiced and jolly

Cried "Pretty Goblin" still for "Pretty Polly;" -

One whistled like a bird.

But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste:

"Good folk, I have no coin;

To take were to purloin:

I have no copper in my purse,

I have no silver either,

And all my gold is on the furze

That shakes in windy weather

Above the rusty heather."

"You have much gold upon your head,"

They answer'd all together:

"Buy from us with a golden curl."

She clipp'd a precious golden lock,

She dropp'd a tear more rare than pearl,

Then suck'd their fruit globes fair or red:

Sweeter than honey from the rock,

Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,

Clearer than water flow'd that juice;

She never tasted such before,

How should it cloy with length of use?

She suck'd and suck'd and suck'd the more

Fruits which that unknown orchard bore;

She suck'd until her lips were sore;

Then flung the emptied rinds away

But gather'd up one kernel stone,

And knew not was it night or day

As she turn'd home alone.

Lizzie met her at the gate

Full of wise upbraidings:

"Dear, you should not stay so late,

Twilight is not good for maidens;

Should not loiter in the glen

In the haunts of goblin men.

Do you not remember Jeanie,

How she met them in the moonlight,

Took their gifts both choice and many,

Ate their fruits and wore their flowers

Pluck'd from bowers

Where summer ripens at all hours?

But ever in the noonlight

She pined and pined away;

Sought them by night and day,

Found them no more, but dwindled and grew grey;

Then fell with the first snow,

While to this day no grass will grow

Where she lies low:

I planted daisies there a year ago

That never blow.

You should not loiter so."

"Nay, hush," said Laura:

"Nay, hush, my sister:

I ate and ate my fill,

Yet my mouth waters still;

To-morrow night I will

Buy more;" and kiss'd her:

"Have done with sorrow;

I'll bring you plums to-morrow

Fresh on their mother twigs,

Cherries worth getting;

You cannot think what figs

My teeth have met in,

What melons icy-cold

Piled on a dish of gold

Too huge for me to hold,

What peaches with a velvet nap,

Pellucid grapes without one seed:

Odorous indeed must be the mead

Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink

With lilies at the brink,

And sugar-sweet their sap."

Golden head by golden head,

Like two pigeons in one nest

Folded in each other's wings,

They lay down in their curtain'd bed:

Like two blossoms on one stem,

Like two flakes of new-fall'n snow,

Like two wands of ivory

Tipp'd with gold for awful kings.

Moon and stars gaz'd in at them,

Wind sang to them lullaby,

Lumbering owls forbore to fly,

Not a bat flapp'd to and fro

Round their rest:

Cheek to cheek and breast to breast

Lock'd together in one nest.

Early in the morning

When the first cock crow'd his warning,

Neat like bees, as sweet and busy,

Laura rose with Lizzie:

Fetch'd in honey, milk'd the cows,

Air'd and set to rights the house,

Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat,

Cakes for dainty mouths to eat,

Next churn'd butter, whipp'd up cream,

Fed their poultry, sat and sew'd;

Talk'd as modest maidens should:

Lizzie with an open heart,

Laura in an absent dream,

One content, one sick in part;

One warbling for the mere bright day's delight,

One longing for the night.

At length slow evening came:

They went with pitchers to the reedy brook;

Lizzie most placid in her look,

Laura most like a leaping flame.

They drew the gurgling water from its deep;

Lizzie pluck'd purple and rich golden flags,

Then turning homeward said: "The sunset flushes

Those furthest loftiest crags;

Come, Laura, not another maiden lags.

No wilful squirrel wags,

The beasts and birds are fast asleep."

But Laura loiter'd still among the rushes

And said the bank was steep.

And said the hour was early still

The dew not fall'n, the wind not chill;

Listening ever, but not catching

The customary cry,

"Come buy, come buy,"

With its iterated jingle

Of sugar-baited words:

Not for all her watching

Once discerning even one goblin

Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling;

Let alone the herds

That used to tramp along the glen,

In groups or single,

Of brisk fruit-merchant men.

Till Lizzie urged, "O Laura, come;

I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look:

You should not loiter longer at this brook:

Come with me home.

The stars rise, the moon bends her arc,

Each glowworm winks her spark,

Let us get home before the night grows dark:

For clouds may gather

Though this is summer weather,

Put out the lights and drench us through;

Then if we lost our way what should we do?"

Laura turn'd cold as stone

To find her sister heard that cry alone,

That goblin cry,

"Come buy our fruits, come buy."

Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit?

Must she no more such succous pasture find,

Gone deaf and blind?

Her tree of life droop'd from the root:

She said not one word in her heart's sore ache;

But peering thro' the dimness, nought discerning,

Trudg'd home, her pitcher dripping all the way;

So crept to bed, and lay

Silent till Lizzie slept;

Then sat up in a passionate yearning,

And gnash'd her teeth for baulk'd desire, and wept

As if her heart would break.

Day after day, night after night,

Laura kept watch in vain

In sullen silence of exceeding pain.

She never caught again the goblin cry:

"Come buy, come buy;" -

She never spied the goblin men

Hawking their fruits along the glen:

But when the noon wax'd bright

Her hair grew thin and grey;

She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn

To swift decay and burn

Her fire away.

One day remembering her kernel-stone

She set it by a wall that faced the south;

Dew'd it with tears, hoped for a root,

Watch'd for a waxing shoot,

But there came none;

It never saw the sun,

It never felt the trickling moisture run:

While with sunk eyes and faded mouth

She dream'd of melons, as a traveller sees

False waves in desert drouth

With shade of leaf-crown'd trees,

And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze.

She no more swept the house,

Tended the fowls or cows,

Fetch'd honey, kneaded cakes of wheat,

Brought water from the brook:

But sat down listless in the chimney-nook

And would not eat.

Tender Lizzie could not bear

To watch her sister's cankerous care

Yet not to share.

She night and morning

Caught the goblins' cry:

"Come buy our orchard fruits,

Come buy, come buy;" -

Beside the brook, along the glen,

She heard the tramp of goblin men,

The yoke and stir

Poor Laura could not hear;

Long'd to buy fruit to comfort her,

But fear'd to pay too dear.

She thought of Jeanie in her grave,

Who should have been a bride;

But who for joys brides hope to have

Fell sick and died

In her gay prime,

In earliest winter time

With the first glazing rime,

With the first snow-fall of crisp winter time.

Till Laura dwindling

Seem'd knocking at Death's door:

Then Lizzie weigh'd no more

Better and worse;

But put a silver penny in her purse,

Kiss'd Laura, cross'd the heath with clumps of furze

At twilight, halted by the brook:

And for the first time in her life

Began to listen and look.

Laugh'd every goblin

When they spied her peeping:

Came towards her hobbling,

Flying, running, leaping,

Puffing and blowing,

Chuckling, clapping, crowing,

Clucking and gobbling,

Mopping and mowing,

Full of airs and graces,

Pulling wry faces,

Demure grimaces,

Cat-like and rat-like,

Ratel- and wombat-like,

Snail-paced in a hurry,

Parrot-voiced and whistler,

Helter skelter, hurry skurry,

Chattering like magpies,

Fluttering like pigeons,

Gliding like fishes, -

Hugg'd her and kiss'd her:

Squeez'd and caress'd her:

Stretch'd up their dishes,

Panniers, and plates:

"Look at our apples

Russet and dun,

Bob at our cherries,

Bite at our peaches,

Citrons and dates,

Grapes for the asking,

Pears red with basking

Out in the sun,

Plums on their twigs;

Pluck them and suck them,

Pomegranates, figs." -

"Good folk," said Lizzie,

Mindful of Jeanie:

"Give me much and many: -

Held out her apron,

Toss'd them her penny.

"Nay, take a seat with us,

Honour and eat with us,"

They answer'd grinning:

"Our feast is but beginning.

Night yet is early,

Warm and dew-pearly,

Wakeful and starry:

Such fruits as these

No man can carry:

Half their bloom would fly,

Half their dew would dry,

Half their flavour would pass by.

Sit down and feast with us,

Be welcome guest with us,

Cheer you and rest with us." -

"Thank you," said Lizzie: "But one waits

At home alone for me:

So without further parleying,

If you will not sell me any

Of your fruits though much and many,

Give me back my silver penny

I toss'd you for a fee." -

They began to scratch their pates,

No longer wagging, purring,

But visibly demurring,

Grunting and snarling.

One call'd her proud,

Cross-grain'd, uncivil;

Their tones wax'd loud,

Their look were evil.

Lashing their tails

They trod and hustled her,

Elbow'd and jostled her,

Claw'd with their nails,

Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,

Tore her gown and soil'd her stocking,

Twitch'd her hair out by the roots,

Stamp'd upon her tender feet,

Held her hands and squeez'd their fruits

Against her mouth to make her eat.

White and golden Lizzie stood,

Like a lily in a flood, -

Like a rock of blue-vein'd stone

Lash'd by tides obstreperously, -

Like a beacon left alone

In a hoary roaring sea,

Sending up a golden fire, -

Like a fruit-crown'd orange-tree

White with blossoms honey-sweet

Sore beset by wasp and bee, -

Like a royal virgin town

Topp'd with gilded dome and spire

Close beleaguer'd by a fleet

Mad to tug her standard down.

One may lead a horse to water,

Twenty cannot make him drink.

Though the goblins cuff'd and caught her,

Coax'd and fought her,

Bullied and besought her,

Scratch'd her, pinch'd her black as ink,

Kick'd and knock'd her,

Maul'd and mock'd her,

Lizzie utter'd not a word;

Would not open lip from lip

Lest they should cram a mouthful in:

But laugh'd in heart to feel the drip

Of juice that syrupp'd all her face,

And lodg'd in dimples of her chin,

And streak'd her neck which quaked like curd.

At last the evil people,

Worn out by her resistance,

Flung back her penny, kick'd their fruit

Along whichever road they took,

Not leaving root or stone or shoot;

Some writh'd into the ground,

Some div'd into the brook

With ring and ripple,

Some scudded on the gale without a sound,

Some vanish'd in the distance.

In a smart, ache, tingle,

Lizzie went her way;

Knew not was it night or day;

Sprang up the bank, tore thro' the furze,

Threaded copse and dingle,

And heard her penny jingle

Bouncing in her purse, -

Its bounce was music to her ear.

She ran and ran

As if she fear'd some goblin man

Dogg'd her with gibe or curse

Or something worse:

But not one goblin scurried after,

Nor was she prick'd by fear;

The kind heart made her windy-paced

That urged her home quite out of breath with haste

And inward laughter.

She cried, "Laura," up the garden,

"Did you miss me?

Come and kiss me.

Never mind my bruises,

Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices

Squeez'd from goblin fruits for you,

Goblin pulp and goblin dew.

Eat me, drink me, love me;

Laura, make much of me;

For your sake I have braved the glen

And had to do with goblin merchant men."

Laura started from her chair,

Flung her arms up in the air,

Clutch'd her hair:

"Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted

For my sake the fruit forbidden?

Must your light like mine be hidden,

Your young life like mine be wasted,

Undone in mine undoing,

And ruin'd in my ruin,

Thirsty, canker'd, goblin-ridden?" -

She clung about her sister,

Kiss'd and kiss'd and kiss'd her:

Tears once again

Refresh'd her shrunken eyes,

Dropping like rain

After long sultry drouth;

Shaking with aguish fear, and pain,

She kiss'd and kiss'd her with a hungry mouth.

Her lips began to scorch,

That juice was wormwood to her tongue,

She loath'd the feast:

Writhing as one possess'd she leap'd and sung,

Rent all her robe, and wrung

Her hands in lamentable haste,

And beat her breast.

Her locks stream'd like the torch

Borne by a racer at full speed,

Or like the mane of horses in their flight,

Or like an eagle when she stems the light

Straight toward the sun,

Or like a caged thing freed,

Or like a flying flag when armies run.

Swift fire spread through her veins, knock'd at her heart,

Met the fire smouldering there

And overbore its lesser flame;

She gorged on bitterness without a name:

Ah! fool, to choose such part

Of soul-consuming care!

Sense fail'd in the mortal strife:

Like the watch-tower of a town

Which an earthquake shatters down,

Like a lightning-stricken mast,

Like a wind-uprooted tree

Spun about,

Like a foam-topp'd waterspout

Cast down headlong in the sea,

She fell at last;

Pleasure past and anguish past,

Is it death or is it life?

Life out of death.

That night long Lizzie watch'd by her,

Counted her pulse's flagging stir,

Felt for her breath,

Held water to her lips, and cool'd her face

With tears and fanning leaves:

But when the first birds chirp'd about their eaves,

And early reapers plodded to the place

Of golden sheaves,

And dew-wet grass

Bow'd in the morning winds so brisk to pass,

And new buds with new day

Open'd of cup-like lilies on the stream,

Laura awoke as from a dream,

Laugh'd in the innocent old way,

Hugg'd Lizzie but not twice or thrice;

Her gleaming locks show'd not one thread of grey,

Her breath was sweet as May

And light danced in her eyes.

Days, weeks, months, years

Afterwards, when both were wives

With children of their own;

Their mother-hearts beset with fears,

Their lives bound up in tender lives;

Laura would call the little ones

And tell them of her early prime,

Those pleasant days long gone

Of not-returning time:

Would talk about the haunted glen,

The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men,

Their fruits like honey to the throat

But poison in the blood;

(Men sell not such in any town):

Would tell them how her sister stood

In deadly peril to do her good,

And win the fiery antidote:

Then joining hands to little hands

Would bid them cling together,

"For there is no friend like a sister

In calm or stormy weather;

To cheer one on the tedious way,

To fetch one if one goes astray,

To lift one if one totters down,

To strengthen whilst one stands."

Christina Rossetti


"Morning and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
Come buy our orchards fruits,
Come buy, come buy...."

Christina Rossetti (1830-1894) was the youngest of the four remarkable Rossetti siblings: Maria Francesca, Dante Gabriel, and William Michael. An English lyric poet born in London she sat as a model for a number of paintings for her brother Dante Gabriel Rossetti and other members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood who were dedicated to the revival of English art through medieval inspiration. Not a member herself, much of Christina's work was religious in nature; the themes of renunciation of earthly love and her concern for death shadow such favorite poems like When I Am Dead, My Dearest and Up Hill. She worked in a home for fallen women and this particular poem may have been inspired by her religious sympathies. A devout Anglican, she lived over a decade as a recluse in her later years suffering from Graves' Disease and ill health until her death in 1894. During this time she composed wonderful verse for children the most important collection of her work is Golbin Market and Other Poems (1862) thought to be her best work it established Rossetti as a significant voice in Victorian poetry.

An allegorical narrative Goblin Market was composed in April of 1859 and subsequently published in 1862. Many different readings have indeed been offered, some less valid than others. Often speculated as biographical in nature it has been offered that it might be about Christina's unrequited love for the Pre-Raphaelite poet and painter William Bell Scott. They support their idea with the line, "For there is no friend like a sister" from her Complete Poem saying that it is a reference to Goblin Market alleging that Christina's older sister, Maria, warned Christina that Scott had fallen in love with another woman, one who was not his wife. One scholar makes a more solid arguement that:

First entitled "A Peep at the Goblins--To M. F. R." (Maria Francesca Rossetti, Christina's sister). The year after Christina Rossetti's death, Goblin Market was interpreted by James Ashcroft Noble as "a little spiritual drama of love's vicarious redemption, in which the child redeemer goes into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil, that by her painful conquest she may succor and save the sister who has been vanquished and all but slain." William Michael Rossetti warned against a search for detailed symbolism, while accepting a general ethical significance for the poem: "I have more than once heard Christina aver that the poem has not any profound or ulterior meaning--it is just a fairy story; yet one can discern that it implies at any rate this much--that to succumb to temptation makes one a victim to that same continuous temptation; that the remedy does not always lie with oneself; and that a stronger and more righteous will may prove of avail to restore one's lost estate" (Mackenzie Bell, Christina Rossetti).

Ripe with a wild imagination and technical virtuosity the poem came to be enjoyed not only as a children's verse but it appealed to adult tastes as well. At first glance one could assert that it is as complex and deep as Coleridge's The Rime of the Ancient Mariner because of the similar themes; the succumbing to temptation followed by redemption all of which occur in a fantasy landscape in combination with everyday images. Distilled to its basic notion Goblin Market is about the confrontation of the issues of betrayed expectations in love from different perspectives. Paul Turner writes in his English Literature 1832-1890 Excluding the Novel (1984)

Analyzing the poem's symbolism, is nearly impossible. This, however, seems to be one of the main reasons the poem has been so popular. Of all the symbolism in the poem, the only thing that really is made clear is that the overall theme is the frustration of instinct. It is generally considered that the "fruit forbidden" is used to represent sexual instinct. The fact that one sister must overcome the goblins and resist the fruit is what makes critics believe the poem is about Maria (Christina's sister), who later became a nun.

The moral tag at the end of this poem is indeed "there is no friend like a sister." Jeanie, who "should have been a bride," perishes from her craving for the once-sampled Goblin fruits represented as premature surrogates for the delights of the marriage bed. Laura succumbs to the attractions of the Goblin fruit then afterwards languishes "in a passionate yearning." She "gnashed her teeth for baulked desire, and wept / As if her heart would break." Lizzie is the Christ figure who exposes the betrayal and illusions about love. She painfully resists the temptations of Goblin Men and their passions, symbolize by the fruit:

.....trod and hustled her,
Elbowed and jostled her,
Clawed with their nails,
Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,
Tore her gown and soiled her stocking,
Twitched her hair out by the roots,
Stamped upon her tender feet,
Held her hands and squeezed their fruits
Against her mouth to make her eat.

As Laura sickens and nearly dies Lizzie braves the temptations of the fruit to bring back juices which the goblins have squeezed onto her clothes in their efforts to force her to eat. She returns triumphant showing her sister the pitfalls of false expectations of fulfillment through sensual pleasures and in it's place she gives her a new direction one that is spiritual in its place:

"Eat me, drink me, love me;
Laura, make much of me:
For your sake I have braved the glen
And had to do with goblin merchant men,"

By means of their suffering in love and their martyrdom to false ideals of love or pleasure, both are saved from the world. Offering herself in this way, she redeems her sister and it is this redemption of Laura by Lizzie's self-sacrifice that fits well with Rossetti's devout Christianity.

The hallmark of classic literature is that it sparks controversy for the ages.The tantalizing description of the fruit bears comparison to the description of the feast in Keats' The Eve of St. Agnes. Most readers find that it's the voluptuous imagery, sensual abundance and charged eroticism, rather than the moral tag that remains permanently fixed in mind and yet there are many other ideas which testify to the meaning behind the eerie and forceful work:

Perhaps it's that classic theme of a woman being tempted, like Eve in the Garden of Eden. The poem can be so many things ... It's a child's daydream, a fairy tale, a religious allegory, a psychodrama, an existential reenactment, a Wasteland drama, and so much more. In Madwoman in the Attic, Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar write, "'Goblin Market' (1859) depicts multiple heroines, each representing selfhood for women." Later they say, "Obviously the conscious or semiconscious allegorical intention of this narrative poem is sexual/religious. Wicked men offer Laura forbidden fruits, a garden of sensual delights, in exchange for the golden treasure ... "

While other female contemporaries like Elizabeth Barrett Browning were striving to 'represent their age and not to flinch from modern varnish, not to cry out for togas and the picturesque.' Unlike anything else written in the Victorian era with Goblin Market Rossetti takes her own unique idea of feminine heroism and crafts it to suite her purpose by cleverly twisting it around to fit her purpose; a very light, but exceedingly bitting mockery of the male dominated culture. I think that most readers over 12 years old will figure out this isn't just about fruit.


Goblin Market

Christina Rossetti (1830-1894), Goblin Market

The Victorian Web

Public Domain text of the poem taken from the Poet's Corner

Monday, May 02, 2005

Golden Slumbers Kiss Your Eyes

GOLDEN slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby;
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you;
You are care, and care must keep you.
Sleep pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby;
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Thomas Dekker (1570-1641)

At four hundred years old it's a true Golden Oldie. This poem, a lullaby by the Elizabethan playwright Thomas Deckker is the obvious basis for the tune "Golden Slumbers", with its refrain:
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.

Paul McCartney built his song upon this poem when he discovered it among his father's sheet music. The second verse of Dekker's poem probably led to the next cut, Carry That Weight, a reprise of part of an earlier song, You Never Give Me Your Money . All of which appear on the Abbey Road album released in England in September of 1969. Golden Slumbers and Carry That Weight were recorded as a single song. An expression of Paul's emotions, many think, about the burden of keeping the Beatles together during 1969, a year marked by conflict and difficulties. The chorus is sung by all four Beatles which was rarely done especially in their later albums. Ringo tended not to provide even back up vocals for most recordings.

Dekker was a British poet and although the composition date is unknown it first appeared in the play The Pleasant Comedy of Patient Grissill (1603). A contemporary of Shakespeare he was a prolific writer though the quality of his work is held to be uneven among many scholars.

A dramatist and pamphleteer born in London, he left us valuable and frequently comical insights into Elizabethan London as his legacy. He almost always took sides with the oppressed members of society. More than forty plays survive, among them the comedies The Shoemakers Holiday (1600) a funny tale about a shoemaker who becomes the mayor of London. And among his pamphlets are The Wonderful Year, an account satirizing the London dandies and gallants of the day.


Bram, Robert Philips, Norma H. Dicky, "Dekker, Thomas," Funk & Wagnalls New Encyclopedia , 1988.

Golden Slumbers/ Carry That Weight

Public Domain text taken from the Poet's Corner