Analysis of Late Loved--Well Loved



He stood beside her in the dawn
(And she his Dawn and she his Spring),
From her bright palm she fed her fawn,
Her swift eyes chased the swallow's wing:
Her restless lips, smile-haunted, cast
Shrill silver calls to hound and dove:
Her young locks wove them with the blast.
To the flush'd, azure shrine above,
The light boughs o'er her golden head
Toss'd em'rald arm and blossom palm.
The perfume of their prayer was spread
On the sweet wind in breath of balm.

'Dawn of my heart,' he said, 'O child,
Knit thy pure eyes a space with mine:
O chrystal, child eyes, undefiled,
Let fair love leap from mine to thine!'
'The Dawn is young,' she smiled and said,
'Too young for Love's dear joy and woe;
Too young to crown her careless head
With his ripe roses. Let me go--
Unquestion'd for a longer space,
Perchance, when day is at the flood,
In thy true palm I'll gladly place
Love's flower in its rounding bud.
But now the day is all too young,
The Dawn and I are playmates still.'
She slipped the blossomed boughs among,
He strode beyond the violet hill.

Again they stand (Imperial noon
Lays her red sceptre on the earth),
Where golden hangings make a gloom,
And far off lutes sing dreamy mirth.
The peacocks cry to lily cloud,
From the white gloss of balustrade:
Tall urns of gold the gloom make proud,
Tall statues whitely strike the shade,
And pulse in the dim quivering light
Until, most Galatea-wise--
Each looks from base of malachite
With mystic life in limbs and eyes.

Her robe, (a golden wave that rose,
And burst, and clung as water clings
To her long curves) about her flows.
Each jewel on her white breast sings
Its silent song of sun and fire.
No wheeling swallows smite the skies
And upward draw the faint desire,
Weaving its myst'ry in her eyes.
In the white kisses of the tips
Of her long fingers lies a rose,
Snow-pale beside her curving lips,
Red by her snowy breast it glows.

'Noon of my soul,' he says, 'behold!
The day is ripe, the rose full blown,
Love stands in panoply of gold,
To Jovian height and strength now grown,
No infant he, a king he stands,
And pleads with thee for love again.'
'Ah, yes!' she says, 'in known lands,
He kings it--lord of subtlest pain;
The moon is full, the rose is fair--
Too fair! 'tis neither white nor red:
'I know the rose that love should wear,
Must redden as the heart had bled!
The moon is mellow bright, and I
Am happy in its perfect glow.
The slanting sun the rose may dye--
But for the sweet noon--let me go.'
She parted--shimm'ring thro' the shade,
Bent the fair splendour of her head:
'Would the rich noon were past,' he said,
Would the pale rose were flush'd to red!'

Again. The noon is past and night
Binds on his brow the blood red Mars--
Down dusky vineyards dies the fight,
And blazing hamlets slay the stars.
Shriek the shrill shells: the heated throats
Of thunderous cannon burst--and high
Scales the fierce joy of bugle notes:
The flame-dimm'd splendours of the sky.
He, dying, lies beside his blade:
Clear smiling as a warrior blest
With victory smiles, thro' sinister shade
Gleams the White Cross upon her breast.

'Soul of my soul, or is it night
Or is it dawn or is it day?
I see no more nor dark nor light,
I hear no more the distant fray.'
''Tis Dawn,' she whispers: 'Dawn at last!
Bright flush'd with love's immortal glow
For me as thee, all earth is past!
Late loved--well loved, now let us go!'


Scheme ABABCDCDEFEF XGCGEHEHIJIJKLKL XMXMNCNOPQCQ RSRSTQTQURUR VWVWXXXXYEYEZHZHOEEE P1 P1 2 Z2 ZO3 O3 P4 P4 CHCH
Poetic Form
Metre 11010001 01110111 10111101 0111011 01011101 11011101 01111101 10110101 011100101 1110101 00111111 10110111 11111111 11110111 110111 11111111 01111101 11111101 11110101 11110111 01010101 01111101 01111101 11001101 11011111 0101111 11010101 110101001 011101001 10110101 11010101 01111101 0111101 101111 11110111 1110101 010011001 0110101 111111 11010101 01010111 01011101 10110101 11010111 110111010 11010101 010101010 1011001 00110101 10110101 11010101 11010111 11111101 01110111 11010011 110010111 11010111 01111101 1111011 1111111 01110111 11110111 11011111 11010111 01110101 11001011 01010111 11011111 1101101 1011101 10110111 10110111 01011101 11110111 1110101 01010101 10110101 110010101 10111101 0111101 11010111 110101001 1100111001 10110101 11111111 11111111 11111111 11110101 11110111 11110101 11111111 11111111
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 3,284
Words 639
Sentences 32
Stanzas 7
Stanza Lengths 12, 16, 12, 12, 20, 12, 8
Lines Amount 92
Letters per line (avg) 28
Words per line (avg) 7
Letters per stanza (avg) 367
Words per stanza (avg) 89
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

3:12 min read
33

Isabella Valancy Crawford

Isabella Valancy Crawford was an Irish-born Canadian writer and poet. more…

All Isabella Valancy Crawford poems | Isabella Valancy Crawford Books

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