The speaker pictures herself dead—her withered heart, her faded body sleeping in the cold earth. She imagines that even Envy will shed a tear, and time will sweep away the grave where poets once mourned. Her ghost, she thinks, will smile on Elysium’s shore, finally free from mortal care, soaking in endless joy. But then she stops herself: no, her restless shade would still grieve, unable to taste any bliss that Phaon doesn’t share. The mood is deeply melancholy, shifting from a quiet acceptance of death to a sudden, sharp realization that even paradise means nothing without the one she loves. For a first-time reader, the sonnet delivers a quiet shock: death isn’t the end of pain, because her love for Phaon is stronger than the grave.
Sonnet XXXVII: When, in the Gloomy Mansion — Summary
When, in the gloomy mansion of the dead, This with'ring heart, this faded form shall sleep; When these fond eyes, at length shall cease to weep, And earth's cold lap receive this fev'rish head; Envy shall turn away, a tear to shed, And Time's obliterating pinions sweep The spot, where poets shall their vigils keep, To mourn and wander near my freezing bed! Then, my pale ghost, upon th' Elysian shore, Shall smile, releas'd from ev'ry mortal care; Whil, doom'd love's victim to repine no more, My breast shall bathe in endless rapture there! Ah! no!my restless shade would still deplore, Nor taste that bliss, which Phaon did not share.