Analysis of Zoheyr

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt 1840 (Petworth House) – 1922 (United Kingdom)



Woe is me for 'Ommi 'Aufa! Woe for the tents of her
lost on thy stony plain, Durráj, on thine, Mutethéllemi!
In Rákmatéyn I found our dwelling, faint lines how desolate,
tent--markstraced like the vein--tracings blue on the wrists of her.
Large--eyed there the wild--kine pastured, white roes how fearlessly,
leaped, their fawns beside them, startled: I in the midst of them.
Twenty years abroad I wander. Lo, here I stand to--day,
hardly know the remembered places, seek I how painfully.
Here our hearth--stones stand, ay, blackened still with her cooking--pots,
here our tent--trench squarely graven, grooved here our camel--trough.
Love, when my eyes behold thy dwelling, to it I call aloud:
Blessed be thou, O house of pleasure, greeting and joy to thee!

Friend of my soul! Dost thou behold them? Say, are there maidens there,
camel--borne, high in their howdahs, over the Júrthum spring?
Say, are their curtains lined with scarlet, sanguine embroideries,
veiling them from eyes of all men, rose--tinted coverings?
Slantwise up El Subáan they mounted: high--set the pass of it.
With them the new--born morning's beauty, fair--faced and fortunate.
At the blink of dawn they rose and laded. Now, ere the sun is up,
point they far to Wády Ras, straight as hand points to mouth.
Joy! Sweet joy of joys! Fair visions, human in tenderness,
dear to the human eye that truly sees them and understands!
As the scarlet fringe of fénna seed--pods no lip hath browsed upon,
so is the dye of their scarlet wool new--fringing the camping--grounds.
And they came to the watering pool in the red rocks: blue--black the depths of it.
And they planted the tent--poles, straight and fairly, firm for a dwelling--place.
They have left Kanáan on the far right hand: dark--crowned the crest of it.
How many foes in El Kanáan! And friends, too, ah, how many!
But they came to El Subáan in their might, impetuous, beautiful,
they in their howdahs of scarlet wool. O friend, dost thou look on them?

I have sworn by the most illustrious dwelling, shrine of processioners,
house revered of Koréysh and Júrhum, founded in piety.
I have sworn my praise to the two chieftains, men of what hardihood,
prompt todo when need shall call them, light deeds and doughty deeds.
Strove ye well, ye Lords of Mórra, what though the clans of you
long had drwoned in blood their friendship, drowned it in war--clamours.
Ye with Abs and Dóbián that day ye persuaded them,
spite of feud and their death--dealing perfumes of mínshami.
For thus ye spake: Let peace be garnered, all the fair wealth of it,
based onpay and fair exchanges, ours to establish it.
Theirs the peace and yours the glory, high names and dignities,
you the nobletwain prevailing, purging the rage of them.
Lo, in Maád ye stand exalted, ye the high--guided ones.
He who a booty brings of glory, shall he not share in it?
Healing of wounds ye dealed in hundreds, hundreds of debt--camels,
guiltless you for the death--guilty, ending the feud of them.
Tribe and tribe, you paid the ransom, what though the hands of you
clean were of blood and the red shedding, ay, the least cup of it.
Yet ye brought the payment bravely, all your fair heritage,
camels yours by right of plunder, these and your earmarked ones.

Ho! To the oath--bound tribes a greeting: Have ye not sworn to it?
Ay, and to Dóbián a message: Will ye not keep the peace?
For you may not hide from God your dealings, what though in secrecy
deep in your heart of hearts you seal it. Nathless He knoweth it,
Knoweth and taketh note in patience, sure of His reckoning
till the day of the great counting, waiteth or hasteneth.
War! Ye have learned it all, its teachings, well have ye tasted them.
These no tales are that I tell you. Each is a certainty.
A smouldering coal ye flung it lightly, blindly despising it.
Lo, into raging flame it leapeth, wind--lit, destroyeth you.
Ye are ground as corn by Hate's ill--grinding, flat on her grinding--skin.
Nay, a too fruitful camel she. Twins hath she borne to you,
Sinister sons of fear and anger, milk--fed on bitterness;
dark as his, Aád's, their nursing. Lo, she is weaned of them.
And her hand is large to rain you harvests, evil the wealth of them.
No such plenty Irák hath garnered, hell--grain and hate--money.

Ay, by my life, the kin was noble. Yet did it fare with them
ill when they the peace--terms flouted. Démdem's the sin of it,
His, Huséyn's, who held his counsel, hiding the thought in him,
yielding naught and naught revealing, steeled in his stubbornness.
For he thought: My end will I accomplish. No ill shall come to me,
fenced and armed, with might behind me, warrio


Scheme ABCADBXDEXXF XGXXHCXXIXXXHXHFDB EFCXJEBBHHEBKHXBJHXK HXFHGFBFHJXJIBBF BHBIBA
Poetic Form
Metre 111111110110 111101111111 0111111010111100 111011110110 11101111111 11101110100111 10101110111111 101001010111100 110111110110101 1101110101110101 111101110111101 11111110100111 111111011111101 1011011100111 111101110100100 10111111110100 11111110110111 110111010110100 101111101110111 111110011111111 11111110100100 11010111011001 1010111111111101 110111101110101 0111010010011110111 01100111010110101 1111110111110111 110101110111110 1111111011010100 101111011111111 111101010010111 101111011100100 11111101101111 1111111110101 11111111110111 1110111011011 1111101111110101 1110111001111 111111110101111 11010101010101 101010101101 101010100111 101111010101101 110101110111101 101111010101110 10110110100111 10111010110111 101100110101111 11101010111100 1011111010111 110111010111111 101111010111101 1111111110110100 1011111111111 10101010111100 10110110111 111111110111101 11111111110100 01111110100101 101101111111 1111111110110101 10110101111111 100111010111100 11101110111111 0011111110100111 111011110110110 111101110111111 11101110110111 11111110100101 10101010101100 1111111010111111 101110111
Closest metre Iambic octameter
Characters 4,574
Words 806
Sentences 60
Stanzas 5
Stanza Lengths 12, 18, 20, 16, 6
Lines Amount 72
Letters per line (avg) 49
Words per line (avg) 11
Letters per stanza (avg) 709
Words per stanza (avg) 161
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

4:03 min read
180

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt was an English poet and writer. more…

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