George Cabot Lodge
Biography of George Cabot Lodge
George Cabot Lodge (October 10, 1873 - August 21, 1909), nicknamed 'Bay', was an American poet of the late 19th and early-20th century, and was the son of Henry Cabot Lodge. He is a member of the Lodge Family, a prominent political family from Massachusetts.
Born in Boston and named after his great-great-grandfather, the American politician George Cabot, he was the son of famed U.S. senator Henry Cabot Lodge and the father of U.S. Senator Henry Cabot Lodge, Jr.. He began studies at Harvard, and continued them in France and Berlin into his mid-twenties.
In 1897, he began work as a secretary to both his father and a U.S. Senate committee in Washington. He later served successfully in the Spanish-American War as a naval cadet. On August 18, 1900, he married Mathilda Frelinghuysen Davis, with whom he had two sons and a daughter. He was a close friend of Theodore Roosevelt, who penned a fond introduction for the posthumous 1911 collection Poems and Dramas of George Cabot Lodge. He was best known for his delicate sonnets, such as the Song of the Wave, Essex, and Trumbull Stickney (Stickney was a friend and admirer), several of which were anthologized. His style and artistic outlook were deeply effected by the pessimism of Schopenhauer and Giacomo Leopardi, as well as French influences including Baudelaire and Leconte de Lisle.
He died near Nantucket in August 1909. A biography, The Life of George Cabot Lodge (1911), was written by his friend and confidant Henry Adams. His collected poems and dramas, in two volumes, were published in 1911 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
George Cabot Lodge Poems
OUT of one heart the birds and I together, Earth hushed in twilight, Low through the live-oaks hung heavy with silver, Gemmed with the sky-light,
If I must die, The earth is inarticulate to sing The dirge I crave: The sorrow of the murmur-laden wave,
A Song Of The Wave
THIS is the song of the wave! The mighty one! Child of the soul of silence, beating the air to sound. White as a live terror, as a drawn sword,
I In silence, solitude and stern surmise His faith was tried and proved commensurate
Speak! said my soul, be stern and adequate; The sunset falls from Heaven, the year is late, Love waits with fallen tresses at thy gate And mourns for perished days.
If I must die,
The earth is inarticulate to sing
The dirge I crave:
The sorrow of the murmur-laden wave,
The sea-born wind complaining ’neath the sky,
And round my head the waters’ silver ring.
If I must live,
And feel the ashes of oblivion