It's a good little poem, certainly, rather touching,
but much too funny to be at all mawkish. But I'd have
to agree with Alan that there are a good many better
poems in Auden, both early and not so early. By the
way, Caleb, he's not keeping a strict syllable count---
the lines vary from 8 to 11 syllables; they're just easy
four-beaters. And it is a bit like Frost, but if you
want Auden loud and clear (and self-consciously) in the
Frost mode, the poem you want is
THEIR LONELY BETTERS
As I listened from a beach-chair in the shade
To all the noises that my garden made,
It seemed to me only proper that words
Should be withheld from vegetables and birds.
A robin with no Christian name ran through
The Robin-Anthem, which was all it knew,
And rustling flowers for some third party waited
To say which pairs, if any, should get mated.
Not one of them was capable of lying.
There was not one which knew that it was dying
Or could have with a rhythm or a rhyme
Assumed responsibility for time.
Let them leave language to their lonely betters
Who count some days and long for certain letters;
We, too, make noises when we laugh or weep:
Words are for those with promises to keep.
Not as good as Frost, no doubt, but a lovely tribute
to the style, no? (Except for the third line; in
order to scan, it must have trochees in the third and
fourth feet---very clumsy rhythmically, surprisingly
so for the almost always sure-footed Auden.)
|