Analysis of Three Graves
John Boyle O'Reilly 1844 (Dowth) – 1890 (Boston)
HOW did he live, this dead man here,
With the temple above his grave?
He lived as a great one, from cradle to bier
He was nursed in luxury, trained in pride,
When the wish was born, it was gratified;
Without thanks he took, without heed he gave.
The common man was to him a clod
From whom he was far as a demigod.
His duties? To see that his rents were paid;
His pleasure? To know that the crowd obeyed.
His pulse, if you felt it, throbbed apart,
With a separate stroke from the people's heart.
But whom did he love, and whom did he bless?
Was the life of him more than a man's, or less?
I know not. He died. There was none to blame,
And as few to weep; but these marbles came
For the temple that rose to preserve his name!
How did he live, that other dead man,
From the graves apart and alone?
As a great one, too? Yes, this was one
Who lived to labor and study and plan.
The earth's deep thought he loved to reveal;
He banded the breast of the land with steel;
The thread of his toil he never broke;
He filled the cities with wheels and smoke,
And workers by day and workers by night,
For the day was too short for his vigor's flight.
Too firm was he to be feeling and giving:
For labor, for gain, was a life worth living.
He worshiped Industry, dreamt of her, sighed for her.
Potent he grew by her, famous he died for her.
They say he improved the world in his time,
That his mills and mines were a work sublime.
When he died—the laborers rested, and sighed;
Which was it—because he had lived, or died?
And how did he live, that dead man there,
In the country churchyard laid?
O, he? He came for the sweet field air;
He was tired of the town, and he took no pride
In its fashion or fame. He returned and died
In the place he loved, where a child he played
With those who have knelt by his grave and prayed.
He ruled no serfs, and he knew no pride;
He was one with the workers side by side;
He hated a mill, and a mine, and a town,
With their fever of misery, struggle, renown;
He could never believe but a man was made
For a nobler end than- the glory of trade.
For the youth he mourned with an endless pity
Who were cast like snow on the streets of the city.
He was weak, maybe; but he lost no friend;
Who loved him once, loved on to the end.
He mourned all selfish and shrewd endeavor;
But he never injured a weak one—never.
When censure was passed, he was kindly dumb;
He was never so wise but a fault would come;
He was never so old that he failed to enjoy
The games and the dreams he had loved when a boy.
He erred, and was sorry; but never drew
A trusting heart from the pure and true.
When friends look back from the years to be,
God grant they may say such things of me.
Scheme | ABACCBCCDDEEFFGGG HXXHIIJJKKLLMMNNCC ODOCCDDCCPPDDQQRRMMSSTTUUQQ |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11111111 10100111 11101111011 1110100101 101111110 0111101111 010111101 11111101 1101111101 1101110101 111111101 1010110101 1111101111 10111110111 1111111111 0111111101 10101110111 111111011 10101001 101111111 1111001001 011111101 1100110111 011111101 110101101 0101101011 1011111111 11111110010 11011101110 110100110110 101110101110 1110101011 1110100101 11101001001 1110111111 011111111 001011 111110111 111010101111 01101110101 0011110111 1111111101 111101111 1111010111 11001001001 111011001001 11100110111 10101101011 10111111010 101111011010 1111011111 111111101 1111001010 11101001110 1101111101 11101110111 111011111101 01001111101 1101101101 010110101 111110111 111111111 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 2,658 |
Words | 541 |
Sentences | 33 |
Stanzas | 3 |
Stanza Lengths | 17, 18, 27 |
Lines Amount | 62 |
Letters per line (avg) | 33 |
Words per line (avg) | 9 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 681 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 180 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:43 min read
- 120 Views
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"Three Graves" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 26 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/22091/three-graves>.
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