Analysis of At Toledo
The little stones chuckle against the fields:
'We are so small: God will not think of us;
We are so old already, we have seen
So many generations blunt their ploughs,
Tilling the fields we lie in; and we dream
Of our first sleep among the ancient hills.'
The grass laughs, thinking: 'I am born and die,
And born and die, and know not birth or death,
Only the going on of the green earth.'
The rivers pass and pass, and are the same,
And I, who see the beauty of the world,
Pass, and am not the same, or know it not,
And know the world no more. O is not this
Some horrible conspiracy of things,
That I have known and loved and lingered with
All my days through, and now they turn like hosts
Who have grown tired of a delaying guest?
They cast me out from their eternity:
God is in league with their forgetfulness.
Scheme | ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRA |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 0101100101 1111111111 1111010111 110010111 1001110011 11011010101 0111011101 0101011111 1001011011 0101010101 0111010101 1011011111 0101111111 1100010011 1111010101 1111011111 11110100101 1111110100 1101111 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 804 |
Words | 163 |
Sentences | 6 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 19 |
Lines Amount | 19 |
Letters per line (avg) | 33 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 624 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 159 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 48 sec read
- 41 Views
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"At Toledo" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/3938/at-toledo>.
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