Emily Dickinson

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi

poem 3

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi - meaning Summary

Mock-heroic National Whimsy

This poem mixes grand classical phrases, patriotic references, scientific jokes and everyday imagery to undercut lofty rhetoric. Its speaker flips between mock-heroic pronouncements and playful domestic commands, treating mortality, national duty and discovery with irony and charm. The result feels like a satirical pageant: public exaltation is deflated by humorous detail, while serious themes—death, civic calling, identity—are handled with teasing irreverence rather than solemnity.

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Sic transit gloria mundi, How doth the busy bee, Dum vivimus vivamus, I stay mine enemy! Oh veni, vidi, vici! Oh caput cap-a-pie! And oh memento mori When I am far from thee! Hurrah for Peter Parley! Hurrah for Daniel Boone! Three cheers, sir, for the gentleman Who first observed the moon! Peter, put up the sunshine; Patti, arrange the stars; Tell Luna, tea is waiting, And call your brother Mars! Put down the apple, Adam, And come away with me, So shalt thou have a pippin From off my father’s tree! I climb the Hill of Science, I view the landscape o’er; Such transcendental prospect, I ne’er beheld before! Unto the Legislature My country bids me go; I’ll take my india rubbers, In case the wind should blow! During my education, It was announced to me That gravitation, stumbling, Fell from an apple tree! The earth upon an axis Was once supposed to turn, By way of a gymnastic In honor of the sun! It was the brave Columbus, A sailing o’er the tide, Who notified the nations Of where I would reside! Mortality is fatal Gentility is fine, Rascality, heroic, Insolvency, sublime! Our Fathers being weary, Laid down on Bunker Hill; And tho’ full many a morning, Yet they are sleeping still, The trumpet, sir, shall wake them, In dreams I see them rise, Each with a solemn musket A marching to the skies! A coward will remain, Sir, Until the fight is done; But an immortal hero Will take his hat, and run! Good bye, Sir, I am going; My country calleth me; Allow me, Sir, at parting, To wipe my weeping e’e. In token of our friendship Accept this Bonnie Doon, And when the hand that plucked it Hath passed beyond the moon, The memory of my ashes Will consolation be; Then, farewell, Tuscarora, And farewell, Sir, to thee!

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