An Imposter
Must you, Carnegie, evermore explainYour worth, and all the reasons give againWhy black and red are similarly white,And you and God identically right?Still must our ears without redress submitTo hear you play the solemn hypocriteWalking in spirit some high moral level,Raising at once his eye-balls and the devil?Great King of Cant! if Nature had but madeYour mouth without a tongue I ne'er had prayedTo have an earless head. Since she did not,Bear me, ye whirlwinds, to some favored spot--Some mountain pinnacle that sleeps in airSo delicately, mercifully rareThat when the fellow climbs that giddy hill,As, for my sins, I know at last he will,To utter twaddle in that void inaneHis soundless organ he will play in vain.
Words in this poem
- evermore adv.
- During eternity; always; forever; for an indefinite period; at all times; -- often used substantively with for.
- identically adv.
- In an identical manner; with respect to identity.
- earless a.
- Without ears; hence, deaf or unwilling to hear.
- pinnacle n.
- An architectural member, upright, and generally ending in a small spire, -- used to finish a buttress, to constitute a part in a proportion, as where pinnacles flank a gable or spire, and the like. [OE. pinacle, F. pinacle, L. pinnaculum, fr. pinna pinnacle, feather. See Pin a peg.]
- inane a.
- Without contents; empty; void of sense or intelligence; purposeless; pointless; characterless; useless. [L. inanis.]
- soundless a.
- Not capable of being sounded or fathomed; unfathomable.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
An Imposter is in the public domain. This text is taken from Shapes of Clay (1903), Project Gutenberg ebook #12658; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Ambrose Bierce, An Imposter, in Shapes of Clay (1903), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #12658, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/bierce-shapes-of-clay/an-imposter.html, id L28172.
Form and metre
An Imposter is 18 lines in a single stanza. It is in rhyming couplets: heroic couplets. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 89%).
See other poems in heroic couplets, other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHAA explainA · againA · whiteB · rightB · submitC · hypocriteC · levelD · devilD · madeE · prayedE · notF · spotF · airG · rareG · hillH · willH · inaneA · vainA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Must you, Carnegie, evermore explain | 10 | ···/˘/˘·˘/ |
| Your worth, and all the reasons give again | 10 | ·····/˘·˘/ |
| Why black and red are similarly white, | 10 | ·····/˘˘˘· |
| And you and God identically right? | 10 | ····˘/˘˘˘· |
| Still must our ears without redress submit | 10 | ··/···˘/˘/ |
| To hear you play the solemn hypocrite | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Walking in spirit some high moral level, | 11 | /˘·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Raising at once his eye-balls and the devil? | 11 | /˘·······/˘ |
| Great King of Cant! if Nature had but made | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Your mouth without a tongue I ne'er had prayed | 10 | ·········· |
| To have an earless head. Since she did not, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Bear me, ye whirlwinds, to some favored spot-- | 10 | ···/···/˘· |
| Some mountain pinnacle that sleeps in air | 10 | ·/˘/˘˘···· |
| So delicately, mercifully rare | 10 | ·/˘˘˘/˘˘˘· |
| That when the fellow climbs that giddy hill, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| As, for my sins, I know at last he will, | 10 | ·········· |
| To utter twaddle in that void inane | 10 | ·/˘/˘···˘/ |
| His soundless organ he will play in vain. | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.