Analysis of A Mother In Egypt
Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall 1883 (Gunnersbury, London) – 1922 (Vancouver)
'About midnight will I go out into the midst of Egypt: and all the firstborn in the land of Egypt shall die, from the firstborn of Pharaoh that sitteth upon the throne, even unto the firstborn of the maid-servant that is behind the mill.'
IS the noise of grief in the palace over the river
For this silent one at my side?
There came a hush in the night, and he rose with his hands a-quiver
Like lotus petals adrift on the swing of the tide.
O small soft hands, the day groweth old for sleeping!
O small still feet, rise up, for the hour is late!
Rise up, my son, for I hear them mourning and weeping
In the temple down by the gate.
Hushed is the face that was wont to brighten with laughter
When I sang at the mill,
And silence unbroken shall greet the sorrowful dawns hereafter,
The house shall be still.
Voice after voice takes up the burden of wailing,–
Do you heed, do you hear ?–in the high-priest's house by the wall;
But mine is the grief, and their sorrow is all unavailing.
Will he wake at their call ?
Something I saw of the broad, dim wings half folding
The passionless brow.
Something I saw of the sword the shadowy hands were holding,–
What matters it now?
I held you close, dear face, as I knelt and harkened
To the wind that cried last night like a soul in sin,
When the broad, bright stars dropped down and the soft sky darkened,
And the Presence moved therein.
I have heard men speak in the market-place of the city,
Low voiced, in a breath,
Of a god who is stronger than ours, and who knows not changing nor pity,
Whose anger is death.
Nothing I know of the lords of the outland races,
But Amun is gentle and Hathor the Mother is mild,
And who would descend from the light of the peaceful places
To war on a child?
Yet here he lies, with a scarlet pomegranate petal
Blown down on his cheek.
The slow sun sinks to the sand like a shield of some burnished metal,
But he does not speak.
I have called, I have sung, but he neither will hear nor waken;
So lightly, so whitely he lies in the curve of my arm,
Like a feather let fall from the bird that the arrow hath taken.
Who could see him, and harm?
'The swallow flies home to her sleep in the eaves of the altar,
And the crane to her nest,'–
So do we sing o'er the mill, and why, ah, why should I falter,
Since he goes to his rest?
Does he play in their flowers as he played among these with his mother?
Do the gods smile downward and love him and give him their care?
Guard him well, O ye gods, till I come; lest the wrath of that Other
Should reach to him there!
Scheme | A BCBCDEDE BABADFDF DGDGCHXH IJIJKLKL MNMNOPOP BQBQBRBR |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 0111111010111001011001110111011110110101101001110110110101 10111001010010 11101111 1101001011111010 1101001101101 11110111110 111111101011 1111111110010 00101101 1101111110110 111101 0100101101001010 01111 110111010110 11111100111101 11101011011010 111111 101110111110 011 101110101001010 11011 11111111101 101111110101 1011111001110 0010101 11111001011010 11001 1011110110011110110 11011 101110110110 111100101011 01101101101010 11101 1111101001010 11111 0111101101111010 11111 111111111011110 11011011001111 1010111011010110 111101 010111010011010 001101 1111100101111110 111111 11101101110111110 10111001101111 1111111111011110 11111 |
Closest metre | Iambic hexameter |
Characters | 2,504 |
Words | 503 |
Sentences | 24 |
Stanzas | 7 |
Stanza Lengths | 1, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8 |
Lines Amount | 49 |
Letters per line (avg) | 40 |
Words per line (avg) | 10 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 279 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 71 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:31 min read
- 67 Views
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"A Mother In Egypt" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/26400/a-mother-in-egypt>.
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