Dejection
Wherefore to-night so full of care,My soul, revolving hopeless strife,Pointing at hindrance, and the barePainful escapes of fitful life?
Shaping the doom that may befallBy precedent of terror past:By love dishonoured, and the callOf friendship slighted at the last?
By treasured names, the little storeThat memory out of wreck could saveOf loving hearts, that gone beforeCall their old comrade to the grave?
O soul, be patient: thou shall findA little matter mend all this;Some strain of music to thy mind,Some praise for skill not spent amiss.
Again shall pleasure overflowThy cup with sweetness, thou shalt tasteNothing but sweetness, and shalt growHalf sad for sweetness run to waste.
O happy life! I hear thee sing,O rare delight of mortal stuff!I praise my days for all they bring,Yet are they only not enough.
Words in this poem
- wherefore adv.
- For which reason; so; -- used relatively. [Where + for.]
- strife n.
- The act of striving; earnest endeavor. [OF. estrif. See Strive.]
- fitful a.
- Full of fits; irregularly variable; impulsive and unstable. [From 7th Fit.]
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- shalt
- 2d per. sing. of Shall.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Dejection 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, Dejection, in Poetical Works (1873–1912), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #37804, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/bridges-shorter-poems/dejection.html, id L01761.
Form and metre
Dejection is 24 lines in 6 stanzas of 4 lines each. Every stanza rhymes ABAB. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%). 88% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.1 syllables. 42% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
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 ABAB careA · strifeB · bareA · lifeB
- 2 ABAB befallA · pastB · callA · lastB
- 3 ABAB storeA · saveB · beforeA · graveB
- 4 ABAB findA · thisB · mindA · amissB
- 5 ABAB overflowA · tasteB · growA · wasteB
- 6 ABAB singA · stuffB · bringA · enoughB
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 tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Wherefore to-night so full of care, | 8 | /˘······ |
| My soul, revolving hopeless strife, | 8 | ··˘/˘/˘· |
| Pointing at hindrance, and the bare | 8 | /˘·/˘··· |
| Painful escapes of fitful life? | 8 | /˘˘/·/˘· |
| Shaping the doom that may befall | 8 | /˘····˘/ |
| By precedent of terror past: | 8 | ·/˘˘·/˘· |
| By love dishonoured, and the call | 9 | ··˘/˘˘··· |
| Of friendship slighted at the last? | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| By treasured names, the little store | 9 | ·/˘˘··/˘· |
| That memory out of wreck could save | 9 | ·/˘˘····· |
| Of loving hearts, that gone before | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Call their old comrade to the grave? | 8 | ···/···· |
| O soul, be patient: thou shall find | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| A little matter mend all this; | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Some strain of music to thy mind, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Some praise for skill not spent amiss. | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Again shall pleasure overflow | 8 | ˘/·/˘/˘· |
| Thy cup with sweetness, thou shalt taste | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Nothing but sweetness, and shalt grow | 8 | /˘·/˘··· |
| Half sad for sweetness run to waste. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| O happy life! I hear thee sing, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| O rare delight of mortal stuff! | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| I praise my days for all they bring, | 8 | ········ |
| Yet are they only not enough. | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
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.