Reply
“WHAT, then, is Love?” she said.Love is a music, blent in curious keyOf jarring discords and of harmony;’Tis a delicious draught which, as you sip,Turns sometimes into poison on your lip.It is a sunny sky infolding storm,The fire to ruin or the fire to warm;A garland of fresh roses fair to sight,Which then becomes a chain and fetters tight.It is a half-heard secret told to two,A life-long puzzle or a guiding clew.The joy of joys, the deepest pain of pain;—All these Love has been and will be again.
“How may I know?” she said.Thou mayest not know, for Love has conned the artTo blind the reason and befool the heart.So subtle is he, not himself may guessWhether he shall be more or shall be less;Wrapped in a veil of many colored mists,He flits disguisèd wheresoe’er he lists,And for the moment is the thing he seems,The child of vagrant hope and fairy dreams;Sails like a rainbow bubble on the wind,Now high, now low, before us or behind;And only when our fingers grasp the prize,Changes his form and swiftly vanishes.
“Then best not love,” she said.Dear child, there is no better and no best;Love comes not, bides not at thy slight behest.As well might thy frail fingers seek to stayThe march of waves in yonder land-locked bay,As stem the surging tide which ebbs and fillsMid human energies and human wills.The moon leads on the strong, resisting sea;And so the moon of love shall beckon thee,And at her bidding thou wilt leap and rise,And follow o’er strange seas, ’neath unknown skies,Unquestioning; to dash, or soon or late,On sand or cruel crag, as is thy fate.
“Then woe is me!” she said.Weep not; there is a harder, sadder thing,—Never to know this sweetest suffering!Never to see the sun, though suns may slay,Or share the richer feast as others may.Sooner the sealed and closely guarded wineShall seek again its purple clustered vine,Sooner the attar be again the rose,Than Love unlearn the secret that it knows!Abide thy fate, whether for good or ill;Fearlessly wait, and be thou certain still,Whether as foe disguised or friendly guestHe comes, Love’s coming is of all things best.
Words in this poem
- blent p. p.
- Blinded. Also (Chaucer), 3d sing. pres. Blindeth.
- curious a.
- Difficult to please or satisfy; solicitous to be correct; careful; scrupulous; nice; exact. [OF. curios, curius, F. curieux, L. curiosus careful, inquisitive, fr. cura care. See Cure.]
- jarring a.
- Shaking; disturbing; discordant. [See Jar.]
- sunny a.
- Of or pertaining to the sun; proceeding from, or resembling the sun; hence, shining; bright; brilliant; radiant.
- clew v. t.
- To direct; to guide, as by a thread. [Cf. D. kluwenen. See Clew, n.]
- befool v. t.
- To fool; to delude or lead into error; to infatuate; to deceive. [OE. befolen; pref. be- + fol fool.]
- 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,]
- behest v. t.
- To vow. Paston.
- yonder adv.
- At a distance, but within view. [OE. yonder, ýonder; cf. OD. ginder, Goth. jaindr there. Yond, adv.]
- beckon v. t.
- To make a significant sign to; hence, to summon, as by a motion of the hand.
- crag n.
- The neck or throat [A form of craw: cf. D. kraag neck, collar, G. kragen. See Craw.]
- attar n.
- A fragrant essential oil; esp., a volatile and highly fragrant essential oil obtained from the petals of roses. [Also written otto and ottar.] [Per. 'atar perfume, essence, Ar. 'itr, fr. 'atara to smell sweet. Cf. Otto.]
- unlearn v. t.
- To forget, as what has been learned; to lose from memory; also, to learn the contrary of. [1st pref. un- + learn.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Reply is in the public domain. This text is taken from A Few More Verses, Project Gutenberg ebook #49518; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Susan Coolidge, Reply, in A Few More Verses (1889), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #49518, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/coolidge-few-more-verses/reply.html, id L23411.
Form and metre
Reply is 52 lines in 4 stanzas of 13 lines each. It is in rhyming couplets, 88% of the lines: 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 ---AABBCCDDEE said · key · harmony · sipA · lipA · stormB · warmB · sightC · tightC · twoD · clewD · painE · againE
- 2 -AABBCCDDEEFF said · artA · heartA · guessB · lessB · mistsC · listsC · seemsD · dreamsD · windE · behindE · prizeF · vanishesF
- 3 -AABBCCDDEEFF said · bestA · behestA · stayB · bayB · fillsC · willsC · seaD · theeD · riseE · skiesE · lateF · fateF
- 4 -AABBCCDDEEFF said · thingA · sufferingA · slayB · mayB · wineC · vineC · roseD · knowsD · illE · stillE · guestF · bestF
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 |
|---|---|---|
| “WHAT, then, is Love?” she said. | 6 | ······ |
| Love is a music, blent in curious key | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Of jarring discords and of harmony; | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘˘ |
| ’Tis a delicious draught which, as you sip, | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| Turns sometimes into poison on your lip. | 10 | ·/···/˘··· |
| It is a sunny sky infolding storm, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| The fire to ruin or the fire to warm; | 10 | ·/·/··/˘·· |
| A garland of fresh roses fair to sight, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| Which then becomes a chain and fetters tight. | 10 | ··˘/···/˘· |
| It is a half-heard secret told to two, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| A life-long puzzle or a guiding clew. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| The joy of joys, the deepest pain of pain;— | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| All these Love has been and will be again. | 10 | ········˘/ |
| “How may I know?” she said. | 6 | ······ |
| Thou mayest not know, for Love has conned the art | 10 | ·········· |
| To blind the reason and befool the heart. | 10 | ···/˘·˘/·· |
| So subtle is he, not himself may guess | 10 | ·/˘···˘/·· |
| Whether he shall be more or shall be less; | 10 | ·········· |
| Wrapped in a veil of many colored mists, | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| He flits disguisèd wheresoe’er he lists, | 9 | ········· |
| And for the moment is the thing he seems, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| The child of vagrant hope and fairy dreams; | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Sails like a rainbow bubble on the wind, | 10 | ···/·/˘··· |
| Now high, now low, before us or behind; | 10 | ·········· |
| And only when our fingers grasp the prize, | 10 | ·/˘·//˘··· |
| Changes his form and swiftly vanishes. | 10 | /˘···/˘/˘˘ |
| “Then best not love,” she said. | 6 | ······ |
| Dear child, there is no better and no best; | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Love comes not, bides not at thy slight behest. | 10 | ········˘/ |
| As well might thy frail fingers seek to stay | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| The march of waves in yonder land-locked bay, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| As stem the surging tide which ebbs and fills | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Mid human energies and human wills. | 10 | ·/˘/˘˘·/˘· |
| The moon leads on the strong, resisting sea; | 10 | ······˘/˘· |
| And so the moon of love shall beckon thee, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| And at her bidding thou wilt leap and rise, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And follow o’er strange seas, ’neath unknown skies, | 10 | ·/˘····˘/· |
| Unquestioning; to dash, or soon or late, | 10 | ˘/˘˘······ |
| On sand or cruel crag, as is thy fate. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| “Then woe is me!” she said. | 6 | ······ |
| Weep not; there is a harder, sadder thing,— | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Never to know this sweetest suffering! | 10 | /˘···/˘/˘˘ |
| Never to see the sun, though suns may slay, | 10 | /˘········ |
| Or share the richer feast as others may. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Sooner the sealed and closely guarded wine | 10 | /˘···/˘/˘· |
| Shall seek again its purple clustered vine, | 10 | ··˘/·/˘/˘· |
| Sooner the attar be again the rose, | 10 | /˘·/˘·˘/·· |
| Than Love unlearn the secret that it knows! | 10 | ··˘/·/˘··· |
| Abide thy fate, whether for good or ill; | 10 | ˘/········ |
| Fearlessly wait, and be thou certain still, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Whether as foe disguised or friendly guest | 10 | ····˘/·/˘· |
| He comes, Love’s coming is of all things best. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
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