
"What I Desire to Say" by Fannie Stearns Davis is a lyric poem that meditates on the fundamental inadequacy of language to express the deepest stirrings of the human heart, even in the presence of the person most intimately known to the speaker. The poem opens with a direct and paradoxical declaration: what the speaker most wishes to communicate cannot be captured in words. This tension between the impulse to speak and the impossibility of speech forms the emotional and thematic core of the entire work. The speaker has moved through two contrasting landscapes during the day — the natural world of hills, leaves, and birdsong, and the human world of city streets with their grinding, mechanical noise — and has returned home carrying an interior weight that neither environment could resolve or release. Back in the quiet domestic space, where the night air moves softly through open windows and doors, where the only sounds are the distant chiming of bells, the speaker finds peace in the physical surroundings and in the presence of a beloved companion. Yet this outward tranquility does not quiet the inner life. The poem insists on a striking paradox: it is precisely in this moment of greatest external stillness and intimate comfort that the speaker feels most distant from some deeper, unnamed home. Peace on the surface does not equal peace within. Davis then reaches for cosmic imagery to convey the scale of what the speaker feels internally. The heart's straining is compared to stars lurching and pulling against the fabric of space, and to winds pressing so violently against the sapphire walls of heaven that they crack and split open. These images are not decorative exaggerations but attempts to give the reader a sense of a feeling so large and so pressurized that ordinary domestic or even natural language cannot contain it. The interior experience exceeds every available frame of reference. The poem's most poignant turn comes in the final stanza, where the speaker addresses the beloved directly. This person is acknowledged as the one individual in all the world who truly understands the speaker's restless, wide-ranging inner life — someone who travels even farther and more freely through the same wild interior territories. The intimacy between the two is thus profound and reciprocal. And yet, even to this supremely understanding companion, the speaker must remain silent. The feeling that most demands expression dies at the very moment of attempted utterance. The closing couplet returns to the poem's opening assertion, completing a tight circular structure. What is desired to be said cannot survive the attempt to say it; it perishes in the giving of breath. This is not mere frustration or failure of vocabulary. Davis suggests something more philosophically absolute: that certain dimensions of human experience are constitutionally beyond articulation, not because language is impoverished but because the experience itself belongs to a register that precedes and exceeds words entirely. Throughout the poem, Davis employs a formal structure of rhymed couplets that creates a surface sense of order and containment. This formal control works in productive tension with the content, which is about things that cannot be controlled or contained. The regularity of the verse becomes a kind of irony — the poem is itself a beautifully ordered verbal artifact built around the claim that the verbal is ultimately insufficient. The beloved figure in the poem is not idealized in a conventional romantic sense but is honored specifically for being a fellow traveler in inward, difficult, and uncharted emotional and spiritual spaces. The relationship is one of profound mutual recognition rather than simple adoration. This makes the speaker's final silence all the more affecting: even perfect understanding between two people does not dissolve the ultimate solitude of the most deeply felt inner life. The poem as a whole can be read as a meditation on the limits of communication and intimacy, the gap between inner experience and outward expression, and the way in which the most meaningful things a person carries remain permanently private, not through choice or failure, but through the nature of those things themselves. Davis frames this not as tragedy but as a condition of existence that must simply be acknowledged and, in some sense, accepted — even within the warmth and closeness of genuine love.
By Fannie Stearns Davis · First published 1914 · Genre: Poetry, Lyric Poetry, American Literature · 208 words
What I desire to say will not be caught in words. -- I have been on the hills to-day, hearing strange leaves and birds. I have been on the city street, hearing the pavements groan. Now I am come again, glad of your face alone.
Here in the quiet house, where the soft night walks through Window and open door, whispering to me and you, -- Here, where no stranger sounds than the far bell-chimes come, -- Here, being most at peace, yet am I far from home. --
Even as if the stars started and strained in space, -- Even as if the winds shook Heaven's audience-place, Pressing the sapphire walls, out, till they cracked and rent, -- So in my side my heart strains through our still content.
What I Desire to Say is listed on Textopian as a poem by Fannie Stearns Davis, dated 1914 CE.
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poetry · American literature · lyric poetry · modernist poetry · women's writing · early twentieth century · introspective · emotional expression · love · nature · identity · personal reflection