If I Could Tell You

If I Could Tell You 

By W H Auden

 

Time will say nothing but I told you so,

Time only knows the price we have to pay;

If I could tell you I would let you know.

 

If we should weep when clowns put on their show,

If we should stumble when musicians play,

Time will say nothing but I told you so.

 

There are no fortunes to be told, although,

Because I love you more than I can say,

If I could tell you I would let you know.

 

The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,

There must be reasons why the leaves decay;

Time will say nothing but I told you so.

 

Perhaps the roses really want to grow,

The vision seriously intends to stay;

If I could tell you I would let you know.

 

Suppose all the lions get up and go,

And all the brooks and soldiers run away;

Will Time say nothing but I told you so?

If I could tell you I would let you know.

 

About this Poem

 

W. H. Auden’s “If I Could Tell You” is one of the most elegant and haunting examples of the villanelle* form in 20th-century poetry. Written in 1940, during a time of global uncertainty and personal introspection, the poem reflects Auden’s preoccupations with fate, time, and the limits of human understanding. Through the disciplined repetition inherent to the villanelle structure, Auden explores the futility of attempting to predict or control the future, as well as the painful inability to articulate certain emotional truths. The poem is widely celebrated not only for its formal mastery but also for the quiet emotional resonance it achieves within the constraints of a tightly ordered verse.

 

The speaker begins with the striking line, “Time will say nothing but I told you so,” immediately positioning time as a silent but omniscient force. This refrain recurs throughout the poem, becoming a kind of mantra that expresses the speaker’s sense of resignation. Time, in Auden’s conception, offers no guidance or foresight; it speaks only after events have unfolded and merely to affirm what could not be known beforehand. The second refrain—“If I could tell you, I would let you know”—is equally suggestive. It conveys a deep desire to communicate something essential, perhaps a truth about love, destiny, or mortality, yet the speaker admits that such knowledge lies beyond the reach of speech. This interplay between knowing and unknowing, between expression and silence, gives the poem its emotional power.

 

Throughout the poem’s six stanzas, Auden employs the villanelle form to echo the very limitations he describes. The repetition of the refrains mirrors the cyclical nature of thought, especially when grappling with uncertainties about the future or love. Each repetition slightly alters in context, accumulating new emotional weight as the poem progresses. This structural device reinforces the central themes: human beings return again and again to the same questions about time, fate, and communication, but definitive answers remain elusive. The fixed form, with its repeated lines and rhyme scheme, becomes a metaphor for the limits of human perspective—we can frame questions and revisit them, but we may never escape their orbit.

 

Despite its philosophical tone, the poem also carries a deeply personal undercurrent. There is an implicit intimacy in the speaker’s voice, a sense that this is a private confession addressed to someone the speaker longs to reach. Lines such as “Suppose the lions all get up and go, / And all the brooks and soldiers run away” evoke surreal imagery that suggests a world in flux, where nothing can be counted on to stay or behave as expected. The poem ultimately resists clarity or conclusion; instead, it invites readers to dwell in uncertainty. This refusal to offer easy resolution is part of what makes the poem so enduring—it captures a universal human condition with spare, deliberate language.

 

“If I Could Tell You” is also a classic example of the villanelle because of how skillfully Auden uses the form to enhance, rather than restrict, meaning. The villanelle’s strict pattern of nineteen lines—five tercets and a final quatrain, with two alternating refrains—often leads poets toward predictability or formal stiffness. Auden, however, embraces these limitations to serve the poem’s meditation on fate. The refrains are not static repetitions but dynamic reframings, deepening with each recurrence. The rhyme scheme (ABA throughout, with the final stanza ABAA) provides musicality without drawing undue attention to itself. This seamless integration of structure and sentiment is what makes Auden’s villanelle exemplary.

 

In conclusion, “If I Could Tell You” is a masterwork of poetic form and philosophical inquiry. It demonstrates how the villanelle, often associated with obsessive or lyrical themes, can also express complex reflections on time, knowledge, and emotional truth. Auden’s use of the form allows for a careful layering of meaning, where each return to the refrain evokes not repetition, but revelation. The poem lingers in the reader’s mind long after the final lines, not because it offers answers, but because it gives voice to the yearning for them. Through its elegant structure and aching restraint, “If I Could Tell You” stands as one of the most affecting and enduring villanelles in English literature.

 

* Villanelles and sonnets are my two favorite poetic forms. The rigidity of the rules of these forms takes a truly dedicated person to write. I love the repetition in a villanelle, and sonnets always have that little twist at the end. In case you are not familiar with the rigid structure of these poems:

 

A villanelle is a 19-line poem composed of five tercets followed by a quatrain, with two repeating refrains and a strict ABA rhyme scheme. The first and third lines of the opening stanza alternate as the final lines of the subsequent stanzas and both reappear in the concluding quatrain. This repetitive structure creates a lyrical, cyclical effect often used to express obsession, longing, or inevitability. 

 

A sonnet is a 14-line poem written in iambic pentameter with a specific rhyme scheme and structure. The two most common types are the Petrarchan (Italian) sonnet, which divides into an octave and a sestet (usually ABBAABBA CDECDE), and the Shakespearean (English) sonnet, which has three quatrains and a final couplet (ABAB CDCD EFEF GG). Sonnets traditionally explore themes like love, time, beauty, and mortality.

 

About the Poet

 

W. H. Auden (Wystan Hugh Auden) was born on February 21, 1907, in York, England, and raised in an intellectually vibrant household in Birmingham. He studied English literature at Christ Church, Oxford, where he emerged as a brilliant and unconventional young poet. In the 1930s, Auden became a central figure in British literary and political life, known for his formal innovation, sharp intellect, and engagement with social and psychological themes. His early poetry often reflected a concern with war, oppression, and spiritual crisis, influenced by his travels in Germany and Spain during periods of political upheaval.

 

Auden was gay, and while he never publicly identified as such in a modern political sense—given the cultural and legal constraints of his time—his sexuality was a formative aspect of his identity and creative life. Though often discreet in public, he was relatively open within his artistic circles and close relationships. His lifelong partnership with the American poet Chester Kallman, beginning in 1939, deeply shaped both his personal life and literary output, even as their romantic relationship eventually evolved into a complicated, platonic companionship. Many of Auden’s poems, particularly his love lyrics, carry a tone of longing, vulnerability, and emotional depth that reflect his experiences as a gay man seeking intimacy in a world that often denied him open recognition.

 

Auden emigrated to the United States in 1939 and became a U.S. citizen in 1946. This move marked a shift in both geography and poetic style: his later work became more philosophical, often concerned with theology, morality, and the inner life. Still, the emotional resonance of his early relationships and romantic disappointments lingered in his poetry. Works like “Lullaby,” “Funeral Blues,” and “The Sea and the Mirror” delicately explore themes of homoerotic desire, loss, and spiritual reconciliation, even when not explicitly naming the gender of the beloved. Auden’s ability to navigate such personal material through layered language and formal control allowed him to speak of love and pain in ways that transcended the boundaries of his era.

 

He spent his final years between New York and Austria, continuing to write, lecture, and influence generations of poets. W. H. Auden died on September 29, 1973, in Vienna. Today, he is remembered not only as one of the most technically gifted and intellectually adventurous poets of the 20th century but also as a pioneering voice in the canon of LGBTQ+ literature. His work stands as a testament to the quiet, resilient dignity with which he lived his life and articulated a deeply personal vision of love, loneliness, and human connection.