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Poem of the Week


Poem Lyrics of The Two Highwaymen by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

I long have had a quarrel set with Time
Because he robb'd me. Every day of life
Was wrested from me after bitter strife:
I never yet could see the sun go down
But I was angry in my heart, nor hear
The leaves fall in the wind without a tear
Over the dying summer. I have known
No truce with Time nor Time's accomplice, Death.
The fair world is the witness of a crime
Repeated every hour. For life and breath
Are sweet to all who live; and bitterly
The voices of these robbers of the heath
Sound in each ear and chill the passer-by.
--What have we done to thee, thou monstrous Time?
What have we done to Death that we must die?


Thematic Review

Written in the first-person point of view, The Two Highwaymen is a short narrative poem about an angry, robbed protagonist, the speaker of the poem, who vents his anger on his two antagonists: Time and “Time’s accomplice, Death,” which are personified as two highwaymen, who rob the journeying protagonist of life.

The poem begins with the speaker’s long-held quarrel with his foe, Time, because he was robbed by Time -- “Every day of [his] life was wrested after bitter strife”. He “never yet could see the sun go down, nor hear the leaves fall in the wind without a tear over the dying summer,” and he “was angry in [his] heart”. He then comes to a crucial conclusion: “No truce with Time nor Time's accomplice, Death.”

But what is the response from “the fair world” around him? It does nothing to comfort him because “life and breath are sweet to all who live and [because] bitterly the voices of these robbers of the heath sound in each ear and chill the passer-by.” “The fair world is the witness of a crime repeated every hour,” and it does not want hear from and think about two highwaymen.

The poem ends with two emotionally-charged, existential questions raised from the first-person-plural point of view: “What have we done to thee, thou monstrous Time? What have we done to Death that we must die?” These two questions are unsettled and unsettling to not only the speaker but also each and every one of us, for we all are on the journey of life and all of us will be inevitably robbed victims of these two highwaymen, Time and “Time’s accomplice, Death.”


Literary Biographical Sketch of Wilfrid Scawen Blunt (1840-1922)

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt, English emotional poet, political writer, and diplomat, is best known for his anti-imperialistic sympathies for oppressed peoples. After retiring, c.1872, from the diplomatic service, he began a career of travel and political crusading. He wrote several works championing Indian, Egyptian, and Irish independence. His best-known volume of verse, Love Sonnets of Proteus (1880), reveals his merits as an emotional poet. It evolved from his many passionate love affairs and displays his talent for realistic description, a poetic language which is both lucid and direct, and minor experimentation with form.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[[ericcoliu]]

Poem of the Week


Poem Lyrics of The Two Highwaymen by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

I long have had a quarrel set with Time
Because he robb'd me. Every day of life
Was wrested from me after bitter strife:
I never yet could see the sun go down
But I was angry in my heart, nor hear
The leaves fall in the wind without a tear
Over the dying summer. I have known
No truce with Time nor Time's accomplice, Death.
The fair world is the witness of a crime
Repeated every hour. For life and breath
Are sweet to all who live; and bitterly
The voices of these robbers of the heath
Sound in each ear and chill the passer-by.
--What have we done to thee, thou monstrous Time?
What have we done to Death that we must die?


Thematic Review

Written in the first-person point of view, The Two Highwaymen is a short narrative poem about an angry, robbed protagonist, the speaker of the poem, who vents his anger on his two antagonists: Time and “Time’s accomplice, Death,” which are personified as two highwaymen, who rob the journeying protagonist of life.

The poem begins with the speaker’s long-held quarrel with his foe, Time, because he was robbed by Time -- “Every day of [his] life was wrested after bitter strife”. He “never yet could see the sun go down, nor hear the leaves fall in the wind without a tear over the dying summer,” and he “was angry in [his] heart”. He then comes to a crucial conclusion: “No truce with Time nor Time's accomplice, Death.”

But what is the response from “the fair world” around him? It does nothing to comfort him because “life and breath are sweet to all who live and [because] bitterly the voices of these robbers of the heath sound in each ear and chill the passer-by.” “The fair world is the witness of a crime repeated every hour,” and it does not want hear from and think about two highwaymen.

The poem ends with two emotionally-charged, existential questions raised from the first-person-plural point of view: “What have we done to thee, thou monstrous Time? What have we done to Death that we must die?” These two questions are unsettled and unsettling to not only the speaker but also each and every one of us, for we all are on the journey of life and all of us will be inevitably robbed victims of these two highwaymen, Time and “Time’s accomplice, Death.”


Literary Biographical Sketch of Wilfrid Scawen Blunt (1840-1922)

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt, English emotional poet, political writer, and diplomat, is best known for his anti-imperialistic sympathies for oppressed peoples. After retiring, c.1872, from the diplomatic service, he began a career of travel and political crusading. He wrote several works championing Indian, Egyptian, and Irish independence. His best-known volume of verse, Love Sonnets of Proteus (1880), reveals his merits as an emotional poet. It evolved from his many passionate love affairs and displays his talent for realistic description, a poetic language which is both lucid and direct, and minor experimentation with form.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[ericcoliu]

Another poem written by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt focuses and thus reflects on Time.

On the Shortness of Time

If I could live without the thought of death,
Forgetful of Time's waste, the soul's decay,
I would not ask for other joy than breath,
With light and sound of birds and the sun's ray.
I could sit on untroubled day by day
Watching the grass grow, and the wild flowers range
From blue to yellow and from red to grey
In natural sequence as the seasons change.
I could afford to wait, but for the hurt
Of this dull tick of time which chides my ear.
But now I dare not sit with loins ungirt
And staff unlifted, for death stands too near.
I must be up and doing -- ay, each minute.
The grave gives time for rest when we are in it.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

[[ericcoliu]]

Another poem written by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt focuses and thus reflects on Time.

On the Shortness of Time

If I could live without the thought of death,
Forgetful of Time's waste, the soul's decay,
I would not ask for other joy than breath,
With light and sound of birds and the sun's ray.
I could sit on untroubled day by day
Watching the grass grow, and the wild flowers range
From blue to yellow and from red to grey
In natural sequence as the seasons change.
I could afford to wait, but for the hurt
Of this dull tick of time which chides my ear.
But now I dare not sit with loins ungirt
And staff unlifted, for death stands too near.
I must be up and doing -- ay, each minute.
The grave gives time for rest when we are in it.
_________________
Time is nothing but a disquiet of the soul

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