Poem
The poem does not describe the plot of the original Cupid and Psyche myth. Instead, the poem, according to Harold Bloom, "has little to do with the accepted myth". In the original myth, Aphrodite punishes Psyche, a well admired girl, by having Cupid use his power to make her fall in love. Cupid, instead, falls in love with her, but he could only be with her in the cover of darkness in order to disguise his identity. Curious, she uses a light to reveal Cupid's identity, but he flees from her presence. Psyche begins to search after Cupid, and Aphrodite forces her to perform various tasks before she could be united with her love. After nearly dying from one of the tasks, Cupid asks Zeus to transform Psyche into a goddess so the two can be together.
The action of "Ode to Psyche" begins with a narrator witnessing two individuals embracing. The narrator immediately recognizes Cupid and is astonished when he recognizes Psyche:
- I wandered in a forest thoughtlessly,
- And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,
- Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side
- In deepest grass, beneath the whisp'ring roof
- Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran
- A brooklet, scarce espied:
- * * * * *
- The winged boy I knew;
- But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?
- His Psyche true! (lines 7–12, 21–23)
The third stanza describes how Psyche, though a newer Goddess, is better than the other deities. However, she is neglected while the others were worshipped:
- O latest born and loveliest vision far
- Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy!
- Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-regioned star,
- Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
- Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,
- Nor altar heaped with flowers;
- Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan
- Upon the midnight hours; (lines 24–31)
The previous list of what Psyche lacks in terms of religious worship only describes external symbols of worship. In the fourth stanza, the narrator emphasizes the internal when he describes how he is inspired by Psyche:
- O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
- Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
- When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
- Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
- Yet even in these days so far retired
- From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
- Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
- I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspired. (lines 36–43)
The narrator, inspired by young goddess, becomes her priest. His imagination allows him to join with both the natural and supernatural elements of Psyche, and his form of worship is within himself while "Ode to Psyche" the poem serves as a song in praise of the goddess. The narrator becomes the prophet for Psyche and says in the final stanza:
- Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane
- In some untrodden region of my mind,
- Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
- Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind: (lines 50–53)
In the conclusion of the poem, the narrator metaphorically says that he will expand his consciousness, which would allow him to better understand both the good and the bad of the world. This will allow the narrator to attain a new sense of inspiration while providing Psyche with a sanctuary:
- And in the midst of this wide quietness
- A rosy sanctuary will I dress
- With the wreathed trellis of a working brain,
- With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
- With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign,
- Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:
- And there shall be for thee all soft delight
- That shadowy thought can win,
- A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
- To let the warm Love in! (lines 58–67)
Read more about this topic: Ode To Psyche
Famous quotes containing the word poem:
“The poem has a social effect of some kind whether or not the poet wills it to have. It has kinetic force, it sets in motion ... [ellipsis in source] elements in the reader that would otherwise be stagnant.”
—Denise Levertov (b. 1923)
“With this pen I take in hand my selves
and with these dead disciples I will grapple.
Though rain curses the window
let the poem be made.”
—Anne Sexton (19281974)
“And no matter how all this disappeared,
Or got where it was going, it is no longer
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Matters too much, and not enough, standing there helplessly
While the poem streaked by, its tail afire, a bad
Comet screaming hate and disaster....”
—John Ashbery (b. 1927)