Analysis of A Sicilian Idyll
Thomas Sturge Moore 1870 – 1944
(First Scene) Damon
I thank thee, no;
Already have I drunk a bowl of wine . . .
Nay, nay, why wouldst thou rise?
There rolls thy ball of worsted! Sit thee down;
Come, sit thee down, Cydilla,
And let me fetch thy ball, rewind the wool,
And tell thee all that happened yesterday.
Cydilla
Thanks, Damon; now, by Zeus, thou art so brisk,
It shames me that to stoop should try my bones.
Damon
We both are old,
And if we may have peaceful days are blessed;
Few hours of bouyancy will come to break
The sure withdrawal from us of life's flood.
Cydilla
True, true, youth looks a great way off! To think
It wonce was age did lie quite out of sight!
Damon
Not many days have been so beautiful
As yesterday, Cydilla; yet one was;
And I with thee broke tranced on its fine spell;
Thou dost remember? Yes? but not with tears,
Ah, not with tears, Cydilla, pray, oh, pray!
Cydilla
Pardon me, Damon,
'Tis many years since thou hast touched thereon;
And something stirs about thee -
Such air of eagerness as was thine when
I was more foolish than in my life, I hope
To ever have been at another time.
Damon
Pooh! foolish? - thou wast then so very wise
That, often having seen thee foolish since,
Wonder has made me faint that thou shouldst err.
Cydilla
Nay, then I erred, dear Damon; and remorse
Was not so slow to find me as thou deemst.
Damon
There, mop those dear wet eyes, or thou'lt ne'er hear
What it was filled my heart yesterday.
Cydilla
Tell, Damon; since I well know that regrets
Hang like dull gossips round another's ear.
Damon
First, thou must know that oftentimes I rise, -
Not heeding or not finding sleep, of watching
Afraid no longer to be prodigal, -
And gaze upon the beauty of the night.
Quiet hours, while dawn absorbs the waning stars,
Are like cold water sipped between our cups
Washing the jaded palate till it taste
The wine again. Ere the sun rose, I sat
Within my garden porch; my lamp was left
Burning beside my bed, though it would be
Broad day before I should return upstairs.
I let it burn, willing to waste some oil
Rather than to disturb my tranquil mood;
But, as the Fates determined, it was seen. -
Suddenly, running round the dovecote, came
A young man naked, breathless, through the dawn,
Florid with haste and wine; it was Hipparchus.
Yes, there he stood before me panting, rubbing
His heated flesh which felt the cold at once.
When he had breath enough, he begged me straight
To put the lamp out; and himself and done it
Ere I was on the stair.
Flung all along my bed, his gasping shook it
When I at length could sit down by his side:
'What cause, young sir, brings you here in this plight
At such an hour?' He shuddered, sighed and rolled
My blanket round him; then came a gush of words:
'The first of causes, Damon, namely Love,
Eldest and least resigned and most unblushing
Of all the turbulent impulsive gods.
A quarter of an hour scarce has flown
Since lovely arms clung round me, and my head
Asleep lay nested in a woman's hair;
My cheek still bears print of its ample coils.'
Athwart its burning flush he drew my fingers
And their tips felt it might be as he said.
'Oh I have had a night, a night, a night!
Had Paris so much bliss?
And oh! was Helen's kiss
To be compared with those I tasted?
Which but for me had all been wasted
On a bald man, a fat man, a gross man, a beast
To scare the best guest from the very best feast!'
Cydilla need not hear half that he said,
For he was mad awhile.
But having given rein to hot caprice,
And satyr jest, and the distempered male,
At length, I heard his story.
At sun-down certain miles without the town
He'd chanced upon a light-wheeled litter-car,
And in it there stood one
Yet more a woman than her garb was rich,
With more of youth and health than elegance.
'The mules,' he said, 'were beauties: she was one,
And cried directions to the neighbour field:
'O catch that big bough! Fool, not that, the next!
Clumsy, you've let it go! O stop it swaying,
The eggs will jolt out!' From the road,' said he,
'I could not see who thus was rated; so
Sprang up beside her and beheld her husband,
Lover or keeper, what you like to call him; -
A middle-aged stout man upon whose shoulders
Kneeled up a scraggy mule-boy slave, who was
The fool that could not reach a thrush's nest
Which they, while plucking almond, had
Scheme | abxcdeef Egx Ahixj Exk Aelemf Eanoxxx Acxp Exf Aqf ExqA crekxxxxxomexxxncrsxtptxkhxxgxxupxvukwwjjxxuexeodxaxsaxxrobxxvlix |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1110 1111 0101110111 111111 1111110111 11111 0111111001 011111010 1 1101111111 1111111111 10 1111 0111110111 110111111 0101011111 1 1111011111 1111111111 10 1101111100 1101111 0111111111 1101011111 11111111 1 10110 1101111101 0101011 1111001111 11110101111 1101110101 10 1101111101 1101011101 1011111111 1 1111110001 1111111111 10 1111111111 11111110 1 1101111101 1111010101 10 111111011 11011101110 0111011100 0101010101 101011010101 11110101101 1001010111 0101101111 0111011111 1001111111 1101110101 1111101111 1011011101 1101010111 100101011 0111010101 101101111 11110111010 1101110111 1111011111 11011001011 111101 11011111011 1111111111 1111111011 11110110101 11011110111 0111010101 100101011 1101000101 0101110111 1101111011 0111000101 1111111101 01110111110 0111111111 1111010101 110111 011101 110111110 111111110 101101101101 11011101011 11111111 111101 1101011101 0110011 1111110 1111010101 1101011101 001111 1101010111 1111011100 0111010111 010101011 1111111101 10111111110 0111110111 1111111101 1101001010 10110111111 01011101110 110111111 011111011 11110101 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 4,280 |
Words | 814 |
Sentences | 44 |
Stanzas | 11 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 3, 5, 3, 6, 7, 4, 3, 3, 4, 65 |
Lines Amount | 111 |
Letters per line (avg) | 30 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 298 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 74 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 4:05 min read
- 70 Views
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"A Sicilian Idyll" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/37137/a-sicilian-idyll>.
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