Analysis of Epithalamion
Hark, hearer, hear what I do; lend a thought now, make believe
We are leafwhelmed somewhere with the hood
Of some branchy bunchy bushybowered wood,
Southern dene or Lancashire clough or Devon cleave,
That leans along the loins of hills, where a candycoloured, where a gluegold-brown
Marbled river, boisterously beautiful, between
Roots and rocks is danced and dandled, all in froth and waterblowballs, down.
We are there, when we hear a shout
That the hanging honeysuck, the dogeared hazels in the cover
Makes dither, makes hover
And the riot of a rout
Of, it must be, boys from the town
Bathing: it is summer’s sovereign good.
By there comes a listless stranger: beckoned by the noise
He drops towards the river: unseen
Sees the bevy of them, how the boys
With dare and with downdolphinry and bellbright bodies huddling out,
Are earthworld, airworld, waterworld thorough hurled, all by turn and turn about.
This garland of their gambols flashes in his breast
Into such a sudden zest
Of summertime joys
That he hies to a pool neighbouring; sees it is the best
There; sweetest, freshest, shadowiest;
Fairyland; silk-beech, scrolled ash, packed sycamore, wild wychelm, hornbeam fretty overstood
By. Rafts and rafts of flake-leaves light, dealt so, painted on the air,
Hang as still as hawk or hawkmoth, as the stars or as the angels there,
Like the thing that never knew the earth, never off roots
Rose. Here he feasts: lovely all is! No more: off with—down he dings
His bleachèd both and woolwoven wear:
Careless these in coloured wisp
All lie tumbled-to; then with loop-locks
Forward falling, forehead frowning, lips crisp
Over finger-teasing task, his twiny boots
Fast he opens, last he offwrings
Till walk the world he can with bare his feet
And come where lies a coffer, burly all of blocks
Built of chancequarrièd, selfquainèd rocks
And the water warbles over into, filleted with glassy grassy quicksilvery shivès and shoots
And with heavenfallen freshness down from moorland still brims,
Dark or daylight on and on. Here he will then, here he will the fleet
Flinty kindcold element let break across his limbs
Long. Where we leave him, froliclavish while he looks about him, laughs, swims.
Enough now; since the sacred matter that I mean
I should be wronging longer leaving it to float
Upon this only gambolling and echoing-of-earth note—
What is … the delightful dene?
Wedlock. What the water? Spousal love.
. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .
Father, mother, brothers, sisters, friends
Into fairy trees, wild flowers, wood ferns
Rankèd round the bower
. . . . . . . .
Scheme | ABBACDCEFFECB GDGEE HHGHBBIIJXIKLKJGMLLJGMNNDOOCX XXF |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11011111011101 1111101 1111011 10111011101 110101111011011 1010110001 1011101101011 11111101 1010101010010 110110 0010101 11111101 101110101 1110101010101 110101001 101011101 1101101101001 111101011110101 11011110011 0110101 1101 111101111101 110101 10111111011111 110111111110101 1111111101110101 1011101011011 111110111111111 1111011 1010101 111011111 1010101011 1010101111 1110111 1101111111 011101010111 1111111 00101010011001101011101 0111011111 111101111111101 101100110111 11111111101111 011101010111 11111010111 0111010100111 1100101 11010101 1 1 101010101 0110111011 111010 1 |
Closest metre | Iambic hexameter |
Characters | 2,577 |
Words | 422 |
Sentences | 38 |
Stanzas | 3 |
Stanza Lengths | 13, 5, 35 |
Lines Amount | 53 |
Letters per line (avg) | 38 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 669 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 148 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 20, 2023
- 2:06 min read
- 173 Views
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"Epithalamion" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/15854/epithalamion>.
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