Within what hut,
My woodland maid,
May I remain awhile?
Next what fire may my chills
Be warmed? Be there
A path that leads
Past stony piles and tells
Us not to walk alone?
I do not think,
My woodland maid,
Deep sleep my dreams will find;
Nor will my coldness cede
To warm sunshine.
But if my steps
Should weary long, nor learn
My ways to scorn, that hut
Through lost defiles
I’ll find once more.
Douglas Thornton is a poet and English teacher living in France. He has published a book of poetry (Woodland Poems) and currently has a website: www.douglasthornton.blogspot.com
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Mr. Thornton, You have a great beginning. But I don’t see the FORM of the poem; as a “classical poet,” isn’t this a requirement? Here is my meaning:
Us not to walk alone?
Within what hut, my woodland maid
May I remain the while?
By what fire may this chill be warmed
What path, past stony piles?
I here vouchsafe my fear, dear maid
That sleep may ne’er me find
Nor will this coldness, marrow deep
Be bathed in warm sunshine
But should my wearying steps endure
And fruitless effort scorn
I’ll find the pathway, straight and sure
And know your love once more
Mr. Thornton, You have a great beginning. But I don’t see the FORM of the poem; as a “classical poet,” isn’t this a requirement? By separate email I am, audaciously, sending you an alternative, and asking for you to reply to clarify your intent.
Ted Hayes
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Hello Mr. Hayes,
The form is meter, composed of two strophes, which need not be of equal length since there are not a set number of lines. You have certainly brought out the meaning of the poem in many more words than I was able to do, but I do not agree with the last two lines, as the focus is not on the ‘maid’ but on the search for a particular hut, so love has no part here.
Thank you for your interest! It is wonderful to see that someone has read the poem and has taken the time to reflect upon it.
Douglas Thornton
I came upon these verbose Wordworthian lines, inspired by Mr. Thornton, who is daring metre without rhyme (not totally unlike those poets, like James Thomson in “The Seasons” and others, who utilized blank verse for their blank verse. These lines do not affect to capture Mr. Thornton’s poem, but only to play with text in the manner of flarf. I wish him the very best of luck on a very difficult path. To me it requires so much intelligence and talent as to be nigh-high unattainable, but definitely worth the effort. It would be wonderful if someone in our language could achieve it. Where is the Homer, the Ennius, of the New Millennium? Probably not outside the battlefield…of life.
Within what hut, my woodland maid, may I remain awhile?
and by what fire may my chills be warmed and bring a smile?
Is there a path that leads past logs we walk, and not alone?
amidst rich earth, my woodland maid, past ferns and boughs and stone?
My dreams subside to sunny light that filters through the leaves.
How beautiful the diamond falls that shimmer in the trees.
The miles interweave, experiences dance about.
The trails curve about the forest, friendly, free from doubt.
That World was true, so good and new, so wonderful to see.
Within that time it was so fine, a very joy to be.