Darkness Analysis

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars

Did wander darkling in the eternal space,

Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth

Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;

Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,

And men forgot their passions in the dread

Of this their desolation; and all hearts

Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:

And they did live by watchfires--and the thrones,

The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,

The habitations of all things which dwell,

Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd,

And men were gather'd round their blazing homes

To look once more into each other's face;

Happy were those who dwelt within the eye

Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:

A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;

Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour

They fell and faded--and the crackling trunks

Extinguish'd with a crash--and all was black.

The brows of men by the despairing light

Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits

The flashes fell upon them; some lay down

And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest

Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;

And others hurried to and fro, and fed

Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up

With mad disquietude on the dull sky,

The pall of a past world; and then again

With curses cast them down upon the dust,

And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd

And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,

And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes

Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd

And twin'd themselves among the multitude,

Hissing, but stingless--they were slain for food.

And War, which for a moment was no more,

Did glut himself again: a meal was bought

With blood, and each sate sullenly apart

Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;

All earth was but one thought--and that was death

Immediate and inglorious; and the pang

Of famine fed upon all entrails--men

Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;

The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,

Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,

And he was faithful to a corse, and kept

The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,

Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead

Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,

But with a piteous and perpetual moan,

And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand

Which answer'd not with a caress--he died.

The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two

Of an enormous city did survive,

And they were enemies: they met beside

The dying embers of an altar-place

Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things

For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,

And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands

The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath

Blew for a little life, and made a flame

Which was a mockery; then they lifted up

Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld

Each other's aspects--saw, and shriek'd, and died--

Even of their mutual hideousness they died,

Unknowing who he was upon whose brow

Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,

The populous and the powerful was a lump,

Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless--

A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay.

The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,

And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;

Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,

And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd

They slept on the abyss without a surge--

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,

The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;

The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,

And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need

Of aid from them--She was the Universe.

.: :.

To fully appreciate this poem, one needs to look at when it was written. Bryon wrote this in July 1816 which was during the "Year Without A Summer". He obviously was directly influence by the strange climatic event. I don't think he was writing about a theoretical end of the world so much as what he might have perceived as the actual end of the world. Snows in July, crop failures, disease, etc...He was just observing the world around him like great poets always do. My two cents. - Kaika Kale

| Posted on 2009-10-23 | by a guest

.: :.

He blames women about the things that have happen to him. He feels that it is women fault the fact that he is heart braken. In other words, he fears to women power (she was the universe)

| Posted on 2009-03-31 | by a guest

.: :.

This is by far the best poem I have written to date. Thank you for the loving comments.
Yours truly,
Georgy B.

| Posted on 2009-03-30 | by a guest

.: :.

Your criticism of it not rhyming is unnecessary due to the fact that this poem is written in blank verse. Rhyme is not a requirement of poetry.

| Posted on 2009-02-06 | by a guest

.: :.

I've read at least three or four poems and this is certainly the best. It reminds me of the time there was a power cut in co-op and everyone had to wheel their trolleys around in the dark- riveting stuff!
My only critism would be that it hardly even rhymes. Come on George, put a bit more effort in and it could be even better.

| Posted on 2009-01-30 | by a guest

.: :.

Good poem read in my English class. Hint* try understanding it backwards. . .
Remind you of anything. "Genisis maybe?" Creation??

| Posted on 2008-10-07 | by a guest

.: cool poem :.

If poems had seems this one would be splitting at them because of its epicnessity. the best part about it is the reality of it. It makes you feel like it could really happen. Fascinating.

| Posted on 2008-04-03 | by a guest

.: This Poem :.

This poem is the singular best work ever conceived by mortal man. The flow of the language that carries you through the best apocalyptic landscape ever created. The blank verse does not blank your mind whilst reading; being the best poem, it is written in the best possible way so that all English speakers will be able to bask in its excellence.
From the very first word of "I" to the last of "Universe" I was completely captivated. The best ending and beginnings of any work that I've read. And I have read quite a fair few.
Its majesty almost makes you forget that the author had numerous affairs with cows and horses-the best animals to have affairs with-as that is quite possibly the best thing to think about when you wish to be disgusted.
10 bests out of 10.

| Posted on 2008-04-03 | by a guest

.: Darkness :.

This, in my opinion, is without a doubt the best poem ever written. Or at least the best poem I've ever read, and I've read a fair few.
The atmosphere Byron conjures up without even trying is dark, desperate and despairing. His vision of the end of the world isn’t all balefire and angles, but insidious darkness that overwhelms everything.
He paints a potent, disturbing picture in our minds with so few words and so little descriptive work as to make this an utter masterpiece of Romantic literature. It encapsulates everything that is horrific in the world, in human nature, and in our minds, and in doing that reminds us of how beautiful the world around us is.
This, as far as I’m concerned, is the benchmark in poetry which everything else must contend with.
Byron’s influence is showing more and more in my work these days, and this is the first poem of his I ever really read any deeper than just hearing the words. Everyone should read this, the imagery and the gentle darkness in it will haunt you for the rest of your life.

| Posted on 2005-05-09 | by Approved Guest