Good Night—Which put the Candle out?
A jealous Zephyr—not a doubt—
Ah, friend, You little knew
How long at that celestial wick
The Angels—labored diligent—
It might have been the Light House Spark—
Some Sailor—rowing in the Dark—
Had importuned to see—
It might have been the waning Lamp
That lit the Drummer— from the Camp—
To purer Reveille—
F322 (1862) 259
Dickinson immediately signals that she has bigger, more mysterious things in mind than who blew out the candle by using the pronoun “Which” rather than “Who.” The “Candle” may on the simplest level be a candle that lit someone’s way from drawing room to bed, for in Dickinson’s day there were no electric lights, but the poem takes us immediately to the stars. It was not some careless person who accidentally blew out a household candle.
Instead, the poet addresses the Zephyr, the Greek god of the west wind standing here for all mild winds. It blew out a star, the “celestial wick” that angels “labored” over with great diligence. I picture a night with a few stars shining; but then some wind pushes a cloud over a star and its brightness immediately vanishes. The Zephyr, the poet supposes, was “jealous” over that twinkling beam in the heavens.
|In this detail from Botticelli's Birth of Venus, Zephyr blows|
the newly-fledged goddess to shore on a half shell.
She continues, chastising the Zephyr: that little star might have been the one thing guiding a sailor lost at sea to some safe harbour—as if it were a lighthouse beaming light to guide ships around rocky shores. Or, perhaps the star was the last light a dying drummer from the war (the Civil War was raging at this time) saw as he slipped from this world into the next where the trumpets would play a “purer Reveille.”
The spondee “Ah, friend,” introduces a not of wistfull sadness as the poet contemplates the dark spot in the sky that once twinkled with light. The sadness continues with images of death as the sailor now has no way to navigate and the Drummer has lost his way to heaven. The message is a heavy one: no matter how diligently the angels work on our behalf, the casual act of a jealous Zephyr, standing here for all gentle winds, can wipe out there efforts in one small puff.