Author: Arthur Conan Doyle

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With acknowledgment to my friend Sir A. Quiller-Couch.

    'Twas in the shadowy gloaming
    Of a cold and wet March day,
    That a wanderer came roaming
    From countries far away.

    Scant raiment had he round him,
    Nor purse, nor worldly gear,
    Hungry and faint we found him,
    And bade him welcome here.

    His weary frame bent double,
    His eyes were old and dim,
    His face was writhed with trouble
    Which none might share with him.

    His speech was strange and broken,
    And none could understand,
    Such words as might be spoken
    In some far distant land.

    We guessed not whence he hailed from,
    Nor knew what far-off quay
    His roving bark had sailed from
    Before he came to me.

    But there he was, so slender,
    So helpless and so pale,
    That my wife's heart grew tender
    For one who seemed so frail.

    She cried, "But you must bide here!
    You shall no further roam.
    Grow stronger by our side here,
    Within our moorland home!"

    She laid her best before him,
    Homely and simple fare,
    And to his couch she bore him
    The raiment he should wear.

    To mine he had been welcome,
    My suit of russet brown,
    But she had dressed our weary guest
    In a loose and easy gown.

    And long in peace he lay there,
    Brooding and still and weak,
    Smiling from day to day there
    At thoughts he would not speak.

    The months flowed on, but ever
    Our guest would still remain,
    Nor made the least endeavour
    To leave our home again.

    He heeded not for grammar,
    Nor did we care to teach,
    But soon he learned to stammer
    Some words of English speech.

    With these our guest would tell us
    The things that he liked best,
    And order and compel us
    To follow his behest.

    He ruled us without malice,
    But as if he owned us all,
    A sultan in his palace
    With his servants at his call.

    Those calls came fast and faster,
    Our service still we gave,
    Till I who had been master
    Had grown to be his slave.

    He claimed with grasping gestures
    Each thing of price he saw,
    Watches and rings and vestures,
    His will the only law.

    In vain had I commanded,
    In vain I struggled still,
    Servants and wife were banded
    To do the stranger's will.

    And then in deep dejection
    It came to me one day,
    That my own wife's affection
    Had been beguiled away.

    Our love had known no danger,
    So certain had it been!
    And now to think a stranger
    Should dare to step between.

    I saw him lie and harken
    To the little songs she sung,
    And when the shadows darken
    I could hear his lisping tongue.

    They would sit in chambers shady,
    When the light was growing dim,
    Ah, my fickle-hearted lady!
    With your arm embracing him.

    So, at last, lest he divide us,
    I would put them to the test.
    There was no one there beside us,
    Save this interloping guest.

    So I took my stand before them,
    Very silent and erect,
    My accusing glance passed o'er them,
    Though with no observed effect.

    But the lamp light shone upon her,
    And I saw each tell-tale feature,
    As I cried, "Now, on your honour,
    Do or don't you love the creature?"

    But her answer seemed evasive,
    It was "Ducky-doodle-doo!
    If his mummy loves um babby,
    Doesn't daddums love um too?"

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Type of Poem: Narrative Poem

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: This poignant poem is a narrative that encapsulates themes of hospitality, power dynamics, jealousy, and love. It tells a story of a wanderer who arrives at the home of the speaker and his wife, initially described as weak, frail and foreign. Over time, the wanderer gains power over the household, causing the speaker to feel usurped and, eventually, suspect his wife’s affections have been stolen by the stranger.

The poem uses a traditional rhyming scheme, which contributes a rhythmic and familiar pattern to the reading. This creates a sense of familiarity and comfort, which is then subverted by the growing tension and turmoil within the narrative. There is also effective use of imagery and descriptive language, painting a vivid picture of characters and their changing dynamics.

The poem’s tone shifts dramatically from welcoming and compassionate to suspicious and bitter. The speaker's jealousy builds throughout the piece, reaching a climax in the final stanzas where he confronts his wife about her perceived infidelity. The shocking twist in the final line reveals that the object of his jealousy is, in fact, a baby, humorously undermining the poem's previously serious and somber tone. This twist implements irony as a literary device, demonstrating the speaker's irrational fears and misunderstandings. Overall, the poem offers a compelling exploration of emotional complexities within a seemingly simple domestic setting.