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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/906722
Rated: E · Book · Educational · #2113747
Poems that pursue the horizon from past to present and poems created for NaPoWriMo 2017
#906722 added March 31, 2017 at 8:23pm
Restrictions: None
I Am Lonely
The world is great: the birds all fly from me,
The stars are golden fruit upon a tree
All out of reach: my little sister [brother] went,
                             And I am lonely.

The world is great: tI tried to mount the hill
Above the pines, where the light lies so still,
But it rose higher: little Lisa [Joe] went,
                             And I am lonely.

The world is great: the wind comes rushing by.
I wonder where it comes from; sea birds cry
And hurt my heart: my little sister [brother] went,
                             And I am lonely.

The world is great: the people laugh and talk,
And make loud holiday: how fast they walk!
I'm lame, they push me: little Lisa [Joe] went,
                             And I am lonely.

                             George Eliot [1819-1880]


From: The Home Book of Verse by Burton Egbert Stevenson, 1917, pg. 323



**********************************


         George Eliot is a pseudonym for Mary Ann, or Marian, Cross, née Evans from Warwickshire, England. She was a contemporary of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Mary Anne began her writing career in 1856 as George Eliot after an adulterous affair with a married man, although she eventually moved in with him and assumed a role as his wife, Mrs. Lewes.



         When I first read this poem, I was struck by the loss of a sibling. The words in brackets are ones I inserted, because as I read, I just substitute my brother for the lost sibling. The sentiments encapsulate how I feel these days - a bit adrift and lonely.
         The use of repetition, both with phrases and the last line, is very effective. His descriptive techniques offer stark contrast in each line of "everything is great but my sister is gone," ending with an expression of loneliness that is repeated.



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{{center}s} Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.~~Robert Frost

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/906722