Analysis of To -
Charles Harpur 1813 (Windsor) – 1868 (Australia)
“Who would not be a poet?” thus I read
In thy proud sonnet, my poetic friend;
And unto this my full assent was given:
“There is not, cannot be, under all heaven,
Aught happier in itself than the witch, poetry.”
But “Who’d not be a poet?” here I pause
Forebodingly, my poet-friend,—because
“To see all beauty with his gifted sight,”
To love, like him, with all the soul,
To be, when life is morning-bright
The very creature of delight,—
Delight beyond control,—
Is still to be, in like degree,
Too sensible of misery
And loss and slight, and all the weeping shapes of dole.
And this is truth too, that with saddened heart
Oft must he from his fellows live apart;
For how can men whose every breath of life
Is drawn in the hot air, and mid the strife
Of pettiest interest, have a kindred heart
With him who hath built heavenward and apart
The structures of his mind, and looking thence
Over this world-thronged universe immense,
Is wont all such embroilments to deplore
As light-obscuring vapours—nothing more?
What ladder of experience can they build,
To mount with—up, into a nature filled
With beauty, or by mighty truths inspired,
Or one even with a bold ambition fired?
But least of all in such men can there be
Devotions chiming into sympathy
With some pure soul, unsuccoured and alone,
Struggled in weariness unwearied on—
Unwearied, day and night, and night and day,
Towards the far Mecca of its faith always.
Yet thus the poet, armed only with the right,
To life’s dishonest battle oft must come,
To front instead of valour, mean despite,
With envy aye in emulation’s room,
Blotting heaven’s sacred light!
To see unblushing fortune’s minions doom
To obloguy, through some repute unholy,
Or to some vile and miserable estate,
All such as would not trample on the lowly,
And basely glorify the falsely great.
Yet if a thought like this
Should mar at times they tuneful bliss,
Stronger within thine earnest will
Be the spirit of sone, that still
Thou mayest sing of eloquent eyes
That are of sunny thoughts the every sunny skies;
Sweet dreams that swarm round honeyed lips,
Like honey-loving bees;
Glad birds, fresh flowers, clear streams, and trees
All starry bright with golden pips;
Or with a loud bold chime,
Sing of that braver time,
When world-wide justice from her Alpine chair
Shall read at length in the rich reddening skies
The gospel of her advent, and declare
The sacred sign of her epiphany there,
Amid the purple dyes;
While all true men, the bravely wise,
Shall seek her there with fearless feet and free
Where the prophet-peaks arise
Out of the shattering mist, the phantom sea
Of old iniquity!
Through dense and rare, shall seek her there,
Breathing with lion-lungs the clear keen mountain air
Of a supreme up-climbing, God-great liberty.
Then envy not the splendid wretchedness
Of Mammon’s dupes! Sing thy great rhymes
For those diviner spiritual times
Our country yet shall know, and, wisely knowing, bless.
Downward, through the blooming roofage
Of a lonely forest bower,
Come the yellow sunbeams,—falling
Like a burning shower:
So through heaven’s starry ceiling
To the hermit soul’s abode,
Comes the Holy Spirit,—earthward
Raying down from God.
Scheme | AXBBCDDEFEEFCCF GGHHGGIIJJKKLLCCXXXX EXEMEMCNCN OOPPQQRSSRTTUQUUQQCQCCUUCDVVX XWXWXXAX |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1111010111 0111010101 01011101110 11110110110 1100001101100 1111010111 1110101 1111011101 11111101 11111101 01010101 010101 11110101 11001100 010101010111 0111111101 1111110101 11111100111 1100110101 111010101 111111001 0101110101 101111001 11111101 110101101 11010100111 1111010101 11011101010 111010101010 1111011111 1101100 11111001 10010011 11010101 0101101111 11010110101 1101010111 110111101 1101011 1010101 11110101 111101010 11110100001 11111101010 01100101 110111 11111101 10011101 10101111 11111001 1111010100101 1111111 110101 111101101 11011101 110111 111101 111101011 111100111 010101001 01011001001 010101 11110101 1101110101 1010101 11010010101 110100 11011101 101101011101 100111011100 11010101 1111111 11110001 1010111010101 1010101 10101010 1010110 101010 11101010 1010101 1010101 1111 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 3,365 |
Words | 553 |
Sentences | 15 |
Stanzas | 5 |
Stanza Lengths | 15, 20, 10, 29, 8 |
Lines Amount | 82 |
Letters per line (avg) | 31 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 502 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 108 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:46 min read
- 53 Views
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"To -" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 9 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/5207/to-->.
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