Get out the microscope, because we’re going through this poem line-by-line.
Lines 1305-1320
I cannot see the features right,
When on the gloom I strive to paint
The face I know; the hues are faint
And mix with hollow masks of night;
Cloud-towers by ghostly masons wrought,
A gulf that ever shuts and gapes,
A hand that points, and palled shapes
In shadowy thoroughfares of thought;
And crowds that stream from yawning doors,
And shoals of pucker'd faces drive;
Dark bulks that tumble half alive,
And lazy lengths on boundless shores;
Till all at once beyond the will
I hear a wizard music roll,
And thro' a lattice on the soul
Looks thy fair face and makes it still.
- What could be worse than not being able to remember what someone really important to you looked like? Probably not much.
- This is what's happening to Tennyson right now. He's having a hard time remembering what Arthur looked like. This is a common thing that happens when someone close to you dies—or even if you just haven't seen someone in a long time. You have a difficult time remembering his or her face.
- It's only at night (in dreams?) that Tennyson is able to really remember his friend's features clearly.