This sonnet is the work of someone to whom the form comes natural. The lines move easily, there is no stretching or cramming, the rhymes are unforced. The logic of the form is observed and obeyed: the octave is all preparations, the sestet is the hunt proper. I don’t know all the terms of falconry; to “snite” is normally to blow one’s nose, and I don’t think falcons can do that, but I can guess what is meant. The poem ends very strongly with “maiden-mild” and “child,” making the point that whatever tenderness the Duke may have is misplaced. This does not surprise us, since the tone has been adversarial from the beginning, but it does drive the point home.
~Richard Wilbur
|