Asian Birds
In this May-month, by graceof heaven, things shoot apace.The waiting multitudeof fair boughs in the wood,How few days have arrayedtheir beauty in green shade.
What have I seen or heard?it was the yellow birdSang in the tree: he flewa flame against the blue;Upward he flashed. Again,hark! 'tis his heavenly strain.
Another! Hush! Behold,many, like boats of gold,From waving branch to branchtheir airy bodies launch.What music is like this,where each note is a kiss?
The golden willows lifttheir boughs the sun to sift:Their sprays they droop to screenthe sky with veils of green,A floating cage of song,where feathered lovers throng.
How the delicious notescome bubbling from their throats!Full and sweet how they are shedlike round pearls from a thread!The motions of their flightare wishes of delight.
Hearing their song I tracethe secret of their grace.Ah, could I this fair timeso fashion into rhyme,The poem that I singwould be the voice of spring.
Words in this poem
- apace adv.
- With a quick pace; quick; fast; speedily. [Pref. a- + pace. OE. a pas at a walk, in which a is the article. See Pace.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Asian Birds is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Excluding the Eight Dramas, Project Gutenberg ebook #37804; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Robert Bridges, Asian Birds, in The Growth of Love, and Other Poems (1873–1912), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #37804, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/bridges-shorter-poems/asian-birds.html, id L01780.
Form and metre
Asian Birds is 36 lines in 6 stanzas of 6 lines each. Every stanza rhymes AABBCC. The metre is iambic trimeter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 91%). 95% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 6.1 syllables. 39% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic trimeter.
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 AABBCC graceA · apaceA · multitudeB · woodB · arrayedC · shadeC
- 2 AABBCC heardA · birdA · flewB · blueB · againC · strainC
- 3 AABBCC beholdA · goldA · branchB · launchB · thisC · kissC
- 4 AABBCC liftA · siftA · screenB · greenB · songC · throngC
- 5 AABBCC notesA · throatsA · shedB · threadB · flightC · delightC
- 6 AABBCC traceA · graceA · timeB · rhymeB · singC · springC
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 trimeter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| In this May-month, by grace | 6 | ······ |
| of heaven, things shoot apace. | 6 | ·/··˘/ |
| The waiting multitude | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| of fair boughs in the wood, | 6 | ······ |
| How few days have arrayed | 6 | ····˘/ |
| their beauty in green shade. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| What have I seen or heard? | 6 | ······ |
| it was the yellow bird | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Sang in the tree: he flew | 6 | ······ |
| a flame against the blue; | 6 | ······ |
| Upward he flashed. Again, | 6 | /˘··˘/ |
| hark! 'tis his heavenly strain. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Another! Hush! Behold, | 6 | ˘/˘·˘/ |
| many, like boats of gold, | 6 | /˘···· |
| From waving branch to branch | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| their airy bodies launch. | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| What music is like this, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| where each note is a kiss? | 6 | ······ |
| The golden willows lift | 6 | ·/˘/·· |
| their boughs the sun to sift: | 6 | ······ |
| Their sprays they droop to screen | 6 | ······ |
| the sky with veils of green, | 6 | ······ |
| A floating cage of song, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| where feathered lovers throng. | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| How the delicious notes | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| come bubbling from their throats! | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Full and sweet how they are shed | 7 | ······· |
| like round pearls from a thread! | 6 | ······ |
| The motions of their flight | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| are wishes of delight. | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| Hearing their song I trace | 6 | /˘···· |
| the secret of their grace. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Ah, could I this fair time | 6 | ······ |
| so fashion into rhyme, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| The poem that I sing | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| would be the voice of spring. | 6 | ······ |
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.