On a night boat ride, the speaker points out to his lover how the stars reflected in the water look brighter and whiter than those in the sky, like water lilies. He turns this into a gentle but anxious question: she can see many stars in the water, but how many shadows are in her soul—is only his shadow there? As he rows, the oars disturb the surface and scatter the reflections, and the brightest star is lost. The water is broken, but she says the actual heavens are still. A spark then flies up, showing that even sky-stars can fall. He pushes the worry further: if her own inner light were suddenly tossed and darkened, would she sink into despair? The mood is intimate and uneasy, mixing a lover’s tenderness with the fear that the brightness between them may be as fragile as starlight on water.
In a Boat — Summary
See the stars, love, In the water much clearer and brighter Than those above us, and whiter, Like nenuphars.
Star-shadows shine, love, How many stars in your bowl? How many shadows in your soul, Only mine, love, mine?
When I move the oars, love, See how the stars are tossed, Distorted, the brightest lost. --So that bright one of yours, love.
The poor waters spill The stars, waters broken, forsaken. --The heavens are not shaken, you say, love, Its stars stand still.
There, did you see That spark fly up at us; even Stars are not safe in heaven. --What of yours, then, love, yours?
What then, love, if soon Your light be tossed over a wave? Will you count the darkness a grave, And swoon, love, swoon?