Analysis of To His Lute
William Henry Drummond 1854 – 1907
My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow
With thy green mother in some shady grove,
When immelodious winds but made thee move,
And birds their ramage did on thee bestow.
Since that dear Voice which did thy sounds approve,
Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow,
Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above,
What art thou but a harbinger of woe?
Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more,
But orphans' wailings to the fainting ear;
Each stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear;
For which be silent as in woods before:
Or if that any hand to touch thee deign,
Like widowed turtle, still her loss complain.
Scheme | ABCACADAEFGEHH |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1111111111 1111001101 1111111 0111011101 1111111101 11010100111 1111111101 1111010011 1101110111 110110101 1101111101 1111010101 1111011111 1101010101 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 621 |
Words | 118 |
Sentences | 4 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 14 |
Lines Amount | 14 |
Letters per line (avg) | 35 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 494 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 116 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 35 sec read
- 53 Views
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