Snake

A snake came to my water-trough

On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,

To drink there.

In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob-tree

I came down the steps with my pitcher

And must wait, must stand and wait; for there he was at the trough

before me.

He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom

And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down,

over the edge of the stone trough,

And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,

And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,

He sipped with his straight mouth,

Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body, Silently.

Someone was before me at my water-trough,

And I, like a second comer, waiting.

He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,

And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,

And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,

And stooped and drank a little more,

Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth,

On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.

The voice of my education said to me:

He must be killed,

For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.

And voices in me said: If you were a man

You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.

But must I confess how I liked him,

How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough

And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,

Into the burning bowels of this earth?

Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him?

Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him?

Was it humility, to feel so honoured?

I felt so honoured.

And yet those voices:

If you were not afraid, you would kill him.

And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid;

But even so, honoured still more

That he should seek my hospitality

From out the dark door of the secret earth.

He drank enough

And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,

And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,

Seeming to lick his lips,

And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,

And slowly turned his head,

And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,

Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round

And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.

And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,

And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and

entered farther,

A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing

into that horrid black hole,

Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,

Overcame me now his back was turned.

I looked round, I put down my pitcher,

I picked up a clumsy log

And threw it at the water trough with a clatter.

I think it did not hit him,

But suddenly that part of him that was left behind

convulsed in undignified haste,

Writhed like lightning, and was gone

Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,

At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.

And immediately I regretted it.

I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!

I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.

And I thought of the albatross,

And I wished he would come back, my snake.

For he seemed to me again like a king,

Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,

Now due to be crowned again.

And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords Of life.

And I have something to expiate;

A pettiness.

– D.H. Lawrence

Alliteration:

In the deep, strange-scented  shade of the great dark carob-tree – s

He reached down from a fissure  in the earth-wall in the gloom – f

And trailed his yellow-brown slackness   soft-bellied down – s

He sipped with his straight  mouth – s

Softly  drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body, – s

And flickered his two-forked   tongue from his lips, and mused a – t

Being earth-brown, earth-golden   from the burning bowels of the – b

On the day of Sicilian  July, with Etna smoking – s

For in Sicily the black,   black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous – s

And voices in me said:   If you were a man – m

How glad I was he had   come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my – g

And depart peaceful, pacified,   and thankless, – p

Into the burning bowels  of this earth – b

Was it humility, to feel   so honoured – h

From out the dark door  of the secret earth – d

And lifted his head, dreamily,   as one who has drunken, – d

And flickered his tongue   like a forked night on the air, – f

Seeming to lick his lips, – l

And climb again the broken   bank of my wall-face – b

And as he put his head  into that dreadful hole – h

into that horrid black hole – h

At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination – s

I despised myself and   the voices of my accursed human education – m

And I wished he would  come back, my snake – v

And so, I missed my  chance with one of the lords – m

Allusion:

“And I thought of the albatross“

Samuel T Coleridge’s ‘The Rime   of the Ancient Mariner’. The mariner shoots the albatross, a traditional   symbol of good luck.

Simile:

And I, like a second   comer, waiting

He lifted his head from his   drinking, as cattle do

And looked at me vaguely, as  drinking cattle do

How glad I was he had come like  a guest in quiet, to drink at my

And flickered his tongue like  a forked night on the air

And looked around like a   god

Writhed like lightning,   and was gone

For he seemed to me again like  a king

Like  a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld

Metaphor

Being earth-brown, earth–golden  from the burning bowels of the

Into the burning bowels  of this earth

From out the dark door  of the secret earth

into that horrid black hole

And so, I missed my chance with   one of the lords

Personification:

And lifted his head, dreamily,   as one who has drunken

Anaphora:

Was  it cowardice, that I dared not kill him?

Was  it perversity, that I longed to talk to him?

Was  it humility, to feel so honoured?

And  looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,

And  slowly turned his head,

And  slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,

And  climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.

And  as he put his head into that dreadful hole,

A sort  of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing

into that horrid black hole

I  looked round, I put down my pitcher,

I  picked up a clumsy log

And  I thought of the albatross,

And  I wished he would come back, my snake.

Repetition:

On a hot, hot  day, and I in pyjamas for the heat

And must wait, must  stand and wait

He lifted his head from his   drinking, as cattle do,

And looked at me vaguely, as   drinking cattle do,

Being earth-brown, earth-golden   from the burning bowels of the earth,

For in Sicily the black,   black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous

But must I confess how  I liked him,

How glad I was he had   come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my

Rhyme Scheme

abac – there, pitcher ; pitcher, clatter; Withdrawing, drawing;