Woe’s me! by dint of all these sighs that come
Woe’s me! by dint of all these sighs that comeForth of my heart, its endless grief to prove,Mine eyes are conquered, so that even to moveTheir lids for greeting is grown troublesome.They wept so long that now they are grief’s home,And count their tears all laughter far above:They wept till they are circled now by LoveWith a red circle in sign of martyrdom.These musings, and the sighs they bring from me,Are grown at last so constant and so soreThat love swoons in my spirit with faint breath;Hearing in those sad sounds continuallyThe most sweet name that my dead lady bore,With many grievous words touching her death.
Words in this poem
- dint n.
- A blow; a stroke. [OE. dint, dent, dunt, a blow, AS. dynt; akin to Icel. dyntr a dint, dynta to dint, and perh. to L. fendere (in composition). Cf. 1st Dent, Defend.]
- circled a.
- Having the form of a circle; round.
- martyrdom n.
- The condition of a martyr; the death of a martyr; the suffering of death on account of adherence to the Christian faith, or to any cause. [Martyr + -dom.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Woe’s me! by dint of all these sighs that come is in the public domain. This text is taken from The New Life, Project Gutenberg ebook #41085, the Dante Gabriel Rossetti translation; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Dante Alighieri, Woe’s me! by dint of all these sighs that come, in The New Life (1861), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #41085, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/dante-vita-nuova/woe-s-me-by-dint-of-all-these-sighs-that-come.html, id L27059.
Form and metre
Woe’s me! by dint of all these sighs that come is 14 lines in a single stanza. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 81%).
See 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 ABBAACCA-DE-DE comeA · proveB · moveB · troublesomeA · homeA · aboveC · loveC · martyrdomA · me · soreD · breathE · continually · boreD · deathE
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Woe’s me! by dint of all these sighs that come | 10 | ·········· |
| Forth of my heart, its endless grief to prove, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Mine eyes are conquered, so that even to move | 10 | ···/˘··/·· |
| Their lids for greeting is grown troublesome. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘˘ |
| They wept so long that now they are grief’s home, | 10 | ·········· |
| And count their tears all laughter far above: | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| They wept till they are circled now by Love | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| With a red circle in sign of martyrdom. | 11 | ···/˘···/˘˘ |
| These musings, and the sighs they bring from me, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Are grown at last so constant and so sore | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| That love swoons in my spirit with faint breath; | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Hearing in those sad sounds continually | 11 | /˘····˘/˘˘˘ |
| The most sweet name that my dead lady bore, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| With many grievous words touching her death. | 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.