Bliss Carman

A Dialogue

<small>THE FAITHLESS LOVER.</small>
{{sc|O life}}, dear Life, in this fair house
Long since did I, it seems to me,
In some mysterious, doleful way

Fall out of love

The speaker uses romantic breakup language for their relationship with Life itself—treating existence as a failed love affair.

Fall out of love with thee.
For, Life, thou art become a ghost,

Ghost and memory

Life has become spectral, insubstantial. The faithless lover experiences existence as already half-dead, a haunting rather than a presence.

A memory of days gone by;
A poor forsaken thing between
A heartache and a sigh.
And now, with shadows from the hills
Thronging the twilight, wraith on wraith,
Unlock the door and let me go

Dark rival Death

Death is personified as Life's competitor—another lover the speaker wants to pursue. The love triangle structure makes suicide sound like infidelity.

To thy dark rival Death!
<small>THE FAITHFUL LOVE.</small>
O Heart, dear Heart, in this fair house
Why hast thou wearied and grown tired,
Between a morning and a night,

Between morning and night

Life accuses the heart of fickleness—you wanted me this morning, now you're tired by evening. The timeframe emphasizes the speaker's sudden despair.

Of all thy soul desired?
Fond one, who cannot understand

Shadows on the floor

Life dismisses the speaker's death-wish as misunderstanding ordinary things (literal shadows) for something profound. You can't even read a room correctly.

Even these shadows on the floor,
Yet must be dreaming of dark loves
And joys beyond my door!
But I am beautiful past all
The timid tumult of thy mood,
And thou, returning not, must still
Be mine in solitude.

Mine in solitude

The final threat: you can't escape me through death. Life claims the speaker will remain hers even in the grave—possession continues past mortality.

Source Wikipedia Poetry Foundation

Reading Notes

The Dialogue Structure

Carman splits the poem into two speakers—The Faithless Lover (the suicidal speaker) and The Faithful Love (Life's response). Both use the same stanza form and rhyme scheme (ABAB), creating a formal debate where each side mirrors the other's structure.

The opening lines deliberately echo each other: "O life, dear Life, in this fair house" versus "O Heart, dear Heart, in this fair house." The fair house is the body—both speakers acknowledge they're arguing over the same dwelling. Life addresses "Heart" rather than the whole person, suggesting the conflict is internal, a civil war within one consciousness.

The Faithless Lover's complaint follows a classic three-stanza argument: I've fallen out of love (stanza 1), you've become a ghost (stanza 2), so let me leave (stanza 3). Life's rebuttal also moves in three stages: why this sudden change (stanza 1), you misunderstand what you see (stanza 2), you can't escape me anyway (stanza 3). The symmetry makes this feel like a formal debate, not a conversation.

Carman published this in the 1890s, during the Decadent movement's fascination with ennui and death-longing. But where Decadents like Dowson romanticized dissolution, Carman stages a genuine argument—Life fights back, and gets the last word.

Life's Counterargument

Life doesn't offer comfort or hope—she offers possession. The final stanza's threat is chilling: "thou, returning not, must still / Be mine in solitude." Death won't free you from me; you'll just be mine alone, without distraction.

Life calls the speaker "Fond one"—foolish, naive. The accusation is that the speaker romanticizes death without understanding it, like someone "dreaming of dark loves / And joys beyond my door" without realizing there's nothing there. The shadows on the floor become a test: you can't even understand ordinary twilight shadows, yet you claim to understand Death.

The poem's power comes from Life's refusal to argue on the speaker's terms. The Faithless Lover wants pathos—"a poor forsaken thing between / A heartache and a sigh." Life responds with "I am beautiful past all / The timid tumult of thy mood." Your depression is temporary weather; I am permanent. The word timid is devastating—it reframes suicidal despair as cowardice, fear of continuing rather than courage to end.

Carman leaves the dialogue unresolved. We don't know if the speaker stays or goes, if Life's argument persuades or just imprisons. The final word solitude hangs in the air—is it threat or promise? The ambiguity makes the poem more unsettling than a clear resolution would be.