In that old beech-walk, now bestrewn with mast,
And roaring loud — they lingered long and late;
Harsh was the clang of the last homeward gate
That latch'd itself behind them, as they pass'd —
Then kissed and parted. Soon her funeral knell
Tolled from a foreign clime; he did not talk
Nor weep, but shuddered at that stern farewell;
'Twas the last gate in all their lovers'-walk
Without the kiss beyond it! Was it good
To leave him thus, alone with his sad mood,
In that dear footpath, haunted by her smile?
Where they had laughed and loitered, sat and stood?
Alone in life! alone in Moreham wood!
Through all that sweet, forsaken, forest-mile!
Charles Tennyson Turner’s The Parting-Gate is a poignant meditation on love, loss, and the irrevocable nature of farewell. Though lesser-known than his brother Alfred Lord Tennyson, Charles Tennyson Turner was a master of the sonnet form, and this poem exemplifies his ability to distill profound emotion into tightly controlled verse. Through its evocative imagery, subtle shifts in tone, and deeply personal yet universal themes, The Parting-Gate explores the intersection of memory and grief, capturing the moment when love is severed by death. This analysis will examine the poem’s historical and biographical context, its use of literary devices, its thematic concerns, and its emotional resonance, demonstrating how Turner transforms a simple narrative of parting into a meditation on the permanence of loss.
To fully appreciate The Parting-Gate, it is useful to situate it within the broader context of Victorian poetry and Charles Tennyson Turner’s own life. The 19th century was a period deeply preoccupied with death and mourning, influenced by high mortality rates, the rise of spiritualism, and the cultural impact of Queen Victoria’s prolonged grief for Prince Albert. The elegiac tone of much Victorian poetry—seen in works like Tennyson’s In Memoriam and Christina Rossetti’s Remember—reflects this societal fixation on loss and remembrance.
Turner himself was no stranger to grief. Though less famous than his brother, he was a clergyman whose life was marked by personal sorrows, including the deaths of loved ones. His poetry often grapples with themes of transience and memory, and The Parting-Gate is no exception. The poem’s setting—a woodland path where lovers once walked—suggests an intimate, autobiographical resonance, as if Turner were drawing from personal experience or observing the sorrow of those around him. The specificity of “Moreham wood” (likely a reference to a real location) lends the poem an air of authenticity, grounding its emotional weight in a tangible, remembered landscape.
Though The Parting-Gate is a sonnet, Turner avoids rigid formalism, instead allowing the natural cadence of grief to shape the poem’s rhythm. The opening lines establish a vivid sensory atmosphere:
In that old beech-walk, now bestrewn with mast,
And roaring loud — they lingered long and late;
The imagery here is tactile and auditory—the “mast” (fallen beech nuts) strewn across the path, the sound of wind “roaring” through the trees. This immediacy draws the reader into the scene, making the subsequent separation all the more jarring. The “clang of the last homeward gate” is a masterful use of auditory dissonance; the harshness of the sound contrasts with the tenderness of the lovers’ kiss, foreshadowing the irrevocable nature of their parting.
Turner’s use of enjambment—where lines spill into one another without punctuation—creates a sense of breathlessness, as if the speaker is struggling to articulate his grief. Consider the lines:
Then kissed and parted. Soon her funeral knell
Tolled from a foreign clime; he did not talk
Nor weep, but shuddered at that stern farewell;
The abrupt shift from “kissed and parted” to “Soon her funeral knell” is devastating in its economy. There is no transition, no preparation—just the stark reality of death. The man’s reaction—neither speaking nor weeping, but shuddering—suggests a grief so profound it defies expression. This aligns with Victorian conceptions of restrained mourning, where outward displays of emotion were often suppressed in favor of silent suffering.
The poem’s volta, or emotional turn, occurs in the final lines, where the speaker shifts from narration to a wrenching rhetorical question:
Was it good
To leave him thus, alone with his sad mood,
In that dear footpath, haunted by her smile?
Here, the poem transcends mere lamentation and enters the realm of existential questioning. The speaker does not simply mourn the woman’s death but interrogates the cruelty of memory itself—how the places once filled with joy become prisons of sorrow. The repetition of “alone” (“Alone in life! alone in Moreham wood!”) underscores the man’s isolation, while the exclamation marks lend the lines a desperate, almost accusatory tone.
At its core, The Parting-Gate is a poem about the persistence of memory and the way physical spaces become imbued with emotional significance. The “lovers’-walk” is not just a setting but a repository of shared experience—now rendered hollow by absence. This theme resonates with other Victorian works, such as Thomas Hardy’s Poems of 1912-13, where landscapes serve as triggers for grief.
The gate itself functions as a powerful symbol. Initially, it is merely a physical barrier, the “last homeward gate” that closes behind the lovers. But by the poem’s end, it transforms into a metaphor for the finality of death—the “last gate” beyond which no reunion is possible. The absence of the “kiss beyond it” is particularly heartbreaking, suggesting that every previous parting had the promise of return, whereas this one does not.
Another key theme is the inadequacy of human response to grief. The man does not weep or speak; he only shudders. This reaction speaks to the Victorian tension between emotional repression and overwhelming sorrow. Unlike the dramatic lamentations of Romantic poetry, Turner’s grief is internalized, making it all the more piercing.
The Parting-Gate invites comparison with other Victorian meditations on loss. Alfred Lord Tennyson’s In Memoriam, for instance, similarly grapples with the silence that follows death, as well as the haunting nature of familiar places. However, where In Memoriam seeks consolation in faith, The Parting-Gate offers no such resolution. The poem’s ending is stark and unresolved, leaving the man—and the reader—trapped in the “sweet, forsaken, forest-mile.”
From a philosophical standpoint, the poem aligns with existential reflections on mortality. The gate becomes a threshold between life and death, much like the mythological River Styx. The lovers’ final kiss is a moment suspended in time, forever unrepeatable, echoing the Greek concept of kairos—a fleeting, decisive moment that cannot be reclaimed.
What makes The Parting-Gate so affecting is its restraint. Turner does not indulge in melodrama; instead, he allows the weight of absence to speak for itself. The poem’s power lies in its quiet devastation—the way a single, ordinary object (a gate) becomes a monument to loss.
Ultimately, The Parting-Gate is a testament to poetry’s ability to articulate the inexpressible. In just fourteen lines, Turner captures the enormity of grief, the cruelty of memory, and the irrevocable nature of farewell. The poem lingers in the mind long after reading, much like the ghost of the woman’s smile in the “dear footpath” of Moreham wood. In this way, Turner ensures that, though the lovers are parted, their story—and its sorrow—remains unforgotten.
Click the button below to print a cloze exercise of the poem critique. This exercise is designed for classroom use.