Analysis of Toward the Close
Robert Crawford 1959 (Bellshill)
Time grows upon us until we exhaust
Hope's possibilities, and then we die
Who thus of life each make a holocaust
Till all we have in nature is put by.
No one survives himself, and none can so
Reclaim the sentiment of youth that he
Would like a fallen leaf re-budded grow
On the bare bough of joy's mortality.
Oh! in what charms may death himself reveal
When the life-instinct turns at last to him
For supreme succour, for the power to heal
That sickness of our days when all grows dim!
More fragrant then than roses, sweeter far,
The airs that come from the old darkness are.
Scheme | ABABCDCDEFEFGG |
---|---|
Poetic Form | Shakespearean sonnet |
Metre | 1101101101 101000111 111111010 1111010111 1101010111 0101001111 110101111 1011110100 1011110101 1011011111 1011101011 11011011111 1101110101 0111101101 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 583 |
Words | 110 |
Sentences | 6 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 14 |
Lines Amount | 14 |
Letters per line (avg) | 32 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 454 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 108 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 33 sec read
- 39 Views
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