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What is a possible analysis of the poem “The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver by Edna St. Vincent Millay?

Posted in Working Mothers on 2nd November 2010

question of Seanybear : What is a possible analysis of the poem “The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver by Edna St. Vincent Millay
I hope this poem to understand a little better, I can not seem to find the connections between how they make worldat to all. (Call me slow if you like) =) Anyway, here is the poem itself: “son,” said my mother, when I knee-high, “you have to cover demand for clothes for you, and do not have a shred I.” There is nothing in the house about a boy pants, too, take scissors to cut a cloth with thread stitches, too. “There is nothing in the house But a loaf-end of rye, And a harp with a woman’s head Nobody will buy” .. was, and she began to cry [page] Founded in the early fall When came the late fall, “My son,” she said, “the sight of you Makes your blood crawl of the mother -” Little skinny shoulder-blades Sticking through your clothes! And where do you get a jacket from God knows about. “It is lucky for me, my boy, your father is in the ground, And can not see how I let it go to his son,” and they made a strange noise. [page] This was in the late fall. When winter came, I would not be a pair of pants is also a T-shirt with my Namen.Ich could not go to school, or outdoors to spielen.Und all the other little boy passed our way. “My son,” my mother said, “Come get in my lap, and I will rub your little bones While you take a nap.” [page] And, oh, but we were silly For half hour or more, Me with my long legs dragging on the floor, A-rock rock rock-a mother-goose rhyme Oh but we were happy For half an hour! But since I was a big boy, and what ? would sagenZu people hear my mother sang to me To sleep all day, say in such a daft way [side] men in the winter was bad that year, fuel was scarce, And food was teuer.Ein wind with a wolf’s head howled about our door, And we burned the chairs and sat on the Boden.Alles what was left us Was a chair we could not break, And the harp with a woman’s head Nobody would take, For song or God’s sake. [Page ] The night before Christmas I cried with the cold saw, I cried myself to sleep Like a two-Jährige.Und in the deep night I felt my mother rise, And stare down at me with love in their Augen.Ich my mother sits on a good chair, A light from their I could not say where, [side] Look nineteen And not a day older, And the harp with Borrowing a woman’s head to move their fingers in the thin Schulter.Ihre thin, tall strings, Were weav-weaving Wonderful Weaving Dinge.Viele bright threads from where I could not see, were quick run through the harp strings, [page] And gold threads whistling Through the hand of my Mutter.Ich saw the Web to grow, and the pattern of erweitern.Sie wove a child’s jacket, And when it geschahSie put it on the floor And wove a anderen.Sie wove a red cloak to look so regal, “She’s done it for a king’s son” I said, “and not for me.” But I knew it was for me. [page] a pair of pants braided faster than that! She wove a pair of boots And a little Dreispitz.Sie wove a pair of gloves, She wove a little blouse, She wove all night In the still cold Haus.Sie sang as she worked, And the harp strings spoke;. Her voice never faltered, And the thread never broke and when I awoke, – [page] As my mother sat with the harp on her shoulder looking nineteen And not a day older, A smile on her lips, And a light over his head and hands in the harp strings Frozen Toten.Und up next to her piled And fall into the sky Were the clothes a king’s son , Just my size Best Answer.

response by Doc I
it as a poetic and metaphorical representation of a mother’s unconditional love and devotion to the place of self-sacrifice for her child would think. The family is poor, with difficulty, (although admittedly they still have a beautiful harp), but the mother sacrifices herself for the sake of her son, and is happy to do so. A fine reflection of the coming Mother’s Day!


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