Sonnet 09

Henry Timrod 1828 (Charleston) – 1867 (Columbia)



I know not why, but all this weary day,
Suggested by no definite grief or pain,
Sad fancies have been flitting through my brain;
Now it has been a vessel losing way,
Rounding a stormy headland; now a gray
Dull waste of clouds above a wintry main;
And then, a banner, drooping in the rain,
And meadows beaten into bloody clay.
Strolling at random with this shadowy woe
At heart, I chanced to wander hither! Lo!
A league of desolate marsh-land, with its lush,
Hot grasses in a noisome, tide-left bed,
And faint, warm airs, that nestle in the hush,
Like whispers round the body of the dead!

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

33 sec read
28

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABBAABBACCDEDE
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 593
Words 110
Stanzas 1
Stanza Lengths 14

Henry Timrod

Henry Timrod was an American poet, often called the poet laureate of the Confederacy. more…

All Henry Timrod poems | Henry Timrod Books

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