The first stanza imagines a strong beam of sunlight piercing an otherwise dark room. Dust particles, normally invisible, are obvious in the beam. Dust particles deflect light. Without them light would reveal only the objects directly in its path, leaving everything else in the dark. A single dust particle would have no appreciable affect. In large numbers, (a congregation) the dust deflects a great deal of light. The implication is that a large group of people, however humble, working together, serve to enhance visibility (truth). Dust in a beam of light is a metaphor for the Church.
The second stanza is a shift to a literal vision of a struggling congregation. The vaulted ceiling and dim lighting give the impression of a disapproving frown. The congregation, ironically, is not particularly congregated. Instead, the people are scattered about the pews like little islands. They are still, neither engaged with each other nor in what is happening in the service; they are day-dreaming romantic dramas through which they are delivered from their (self-imposed) isolations.
The third stanza, unlike the others, is not an image. It considers the phenomenon of solitude in the presence of others. The question, “who dreams of solitude?” is rhetorical. The answer is “No one”. No one dreams of solitude, even those who occasionally appreciate it. Relational daydreams are about complements, which is to say, good relationships that bring comfort and joy.
But the ones dreaming of connection are practicing isolation. Why? Safety has come to be more important to them than human contact. They have all braved intimacy; they have made themselves vulnerable—and they have suffered for it. Their efforts have borne some fruit but, as a rule, have been met with derision or apathy. Their social context has been a series small shocks—each averted eye, each limp hand, each bland vocalization a wound. Even their mothers, the ones they think of with tenderness, have been perplexingly erratic. They say to themselves, generally unconsciously, “I am made to be embraced, but the truth is, I am not.” They cope by limiting relational risk.
The fourth stanza is a departure of style and mood from the rest of the poem. Here we observe a specific woman exploring a house, metaphoric for the inmost being of another person. She experiences him first through his eyes: windows thrown open. She wanders through the library of his history. Finally, she becomes acquainted with his inmost thoughts (the frescoes). The primary colors mentioned represent the spectrum, suggesting the breadth of his revelations to her. Her trembling is fear and wonder and joy at his openness. She remarks, as one truly enraptured, that her life up to that moment seems to have been merely a pathway to him. Her experience is the joy of knowing and being known.
Stanza five abruptly ends the reverie. The “Quiet” (relational dreamers) are referenced with scoffing. An unidentified group has observed Eleanor and her lover and they are not amused. They are “pharisees”. This society does not represent any particular group; it is the mob that forms around “righteous” rules. These mobs form on the left, the right; they can be male or female; they can be theistic, or humanistic; they can be of any race or culture or nationality. Or, the huddled group may represent our own cautious natures; it is recognition that intimacy is inherently dangerous and sometimes inappropriate.
The “proper” despise intimacy because for them it implies faithlessness and carnality. Love, too vague for regulation, cannot be trusted. They are passionate about their rules; their regulations define them even when they are alone. The congregants of stanza two practiced arm’s-length relationships out of fear; this group embraces the practice as proper policy.
Stanzas six and seven take a big picture, birds eye, view. Two developments can be seen from this perspective. The first is a hungry herd struggling through mountain passes in search of green pasture. This feeble group represents those in search of genuine human relationship. They are malnourished, but they are driven by hope and reasonable expectation.
The second group is a great army, robust, confident, and equipped. This group rushes to conquer but, unmindful of history, has forgotten that great battles result in great destruction. The army is the self-righteous marching to their doom.
The poem is called a lament because it is an expression of frustration and sorrow about the inherent difficulties and dangers of relationships. It is a lament against legalism and gossip, both of which inflict great damage. It is a lament over our regulatory coping mechanisms, designed to keep relationships safe. It is a lament over the result: tepid relationships. It is sorrow over how humans fail to protect and embrace one another. It is a lament over the earth; it is a lament that the earth is beyond saving and must be abandoned.
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