Sometimes I don't know where to start, I says to myself, in the great scheme of things as the world goes by, leaving me and my mates adrift in the universe, know what I mean? Craddock in his usual irrelevant and long-winded way goes on and on, and in the end says we Americans who saved his nation from total destruction in WW2 owe its survival to the USSR and Josef Stalin!
Dream-Love by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, is a poem written in the highly idealized pastoral manner about love’s dream world, of summer peace and perfection. Sadly the real world is not like this. There is always a national leader prepared to invade and occupy other countries, defying the Geneva Conventions, while justifying such actions with political propaganda.
“The exhaustion of a society (the Victorian/Edwardian) which, in winning everything, has nowhere now to go but a deathly sleep.” No, this society did not win everything, although it created an Empire that once spanned a quarter of the world. Nor did the British Empire sleep, it transformed into a Commonwealth of Nations, which under the resolute leadership of Winston Churchill, inflicted the first military setbacks and defeats upon Nazi Germany.
It was Churchill who during The Battle of Britain, on August 26 1940, ordered 81 RAF Hampden bombers to attack Berlin during those dark days of battle, while England stood alone, about to suffer a merciless London Blitz. The nightmare spread into Russia, which halted this Blitzkrieg in Europe, again with resolute leadership courage and determination, while America in a deadly sleep of indifference; slept on nowhere to be seen.
This saving grace and legacy of the Victorian era can still be read, because Churchill’s “magnificent oratory survives in a dozen volumes of speeches, among them The Unrelenting Struggle (1942) , The Dawn of Liberation (1945) , and Victory (1946) .”
There is something chilling about the idea of young love sleeping from May till Autumn. As Kimberly Kastner says this poem is 'pretty', but it is the prettiness of the graveyard. One feels, reading this poem, the exhaustion of a society (the Victorian/Edwardian) which, in winning everything, has nowhere now to go but a deathly sleep.