Politics
You say a thousand things,Persuasively,And with strange passion hotly I agree,And praise your zest,And thenA blackbird singsOn April lilac, or fieldfaring men,Ghostlike, with loaded wain,Come down the twilit laneTo rest,And what is all your argument to me?
Oh, yes--I know, I know,It must be so--You must deviseYour myriad policies,For we are little wise,And must be led and marshalled, lest we keepToo fast a sleepFar from the central world’s realities.Yes, we must heed--For surely you revealLife’s very heart; surely with flaming zealYou search our folly and our secret need;And surely it is wrongTo count my blackbird’s song,My cones of lilac, and my wagon team,More than a world of dream.
But stillA voice calls from the hill--I must away--I cannot hear your argument to-day.
Words in this poem
- hotly adv.
- In a hot or fiery manner; ardently; vehemently; violently; hastily; as, a hotly pursued. [From Hot, a.]
- zest n.
- A piece of orange or lemon peel, or the aromatic oil which may be squeezed from such peel, used to give flavor to liquor, etc. [F. zeste, probably fr. L. schistos split, cleft, divided, Gr. Schism.]
- ghostlike a.
- Like a ghost; ghastly.
- wain n.
- A four-wheeled vehicle for the transportation of goods, produce, etc.; a wagon. [OE. wain, AS. wægn; akin to D. & G. wagen, OHG. wagan, Icel. & Sw. vagn, Dan. vogn, and E. way. Way, Weigh, and cf. Wagon.]
- myriad n.
- The number of ten thousand; ten thousand persons or things. [Gr. myriade.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Politics is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, 1908-1919, Project Gutenberg ebook #51575; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: John Drinkwater, Politics, in Poems, 1908-1919 (1919), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #51575, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/drinkwater-poems/politics.html, id L23125.
Form and metre
Politics is 31 lines in 3 stanzas. This poem did not settle on a metre of its own; the book it comes from is in iambic tetrameter.
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 A-BCDADEECB thingsA · persuasively · agreeB · zestC · thenD · singsA · menD · wainE · laneE · restC · meB
- 2 AABBBCCBDEEDFFGG knowA · soA · deviseB · policiesB · wiseB · keepC · sleepC · realitiesB · heedD · revealE · zealE · needD · wrongF · songF · teamG · dreamG
- 3 AABB stillA · hillA · awayB · dayB
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 |
|---|---|---|
| You say a thousand things, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Persuasively, | 4 | ˘/˘˘ |
| And with strange passion hotly I agree, | 10 | ···/˘/˘·˘/ |
| And praise your zest, | 4 | ···· |
| And then | 2 | ·· |
| A blackbird sings | 4 | ·/˘· |
| On April lilac, or fieldfaring men, | 10 | ·/˘/······ |
| Ghostlike, with loaded wain, | 6 | /··/˘· |
| Come down the twilit lane | 6 | ······ |
| To rest, | 2 | ·· |
| And what is all your argument to me? | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| Oh, yes--I know, I know, | 6 | ······ |
| It must be so-- | 4 | ···· |
| You must devise | 4 | ··˘/ |
| Your myriad policies, | 7 | ·/˘˘/˘˘ |
| For we are little wise, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And must be led and marshalled, lest we keep | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Too fast a sleep | 4 | ···· |
| Far from the central world’s realities. | 9 | ···/˘·˘/˘ |
| Yes, we must heed-- | 4 | ···· |
| For surely you reveal | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| Life’s very heart; surely with flaming zeal | 10 | ·/˘·/˘·/˘· |
| You search our folly and our secret need; | 10 | ··//˘·//˘· |
| And surely it is wrong | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| To count my blackbird’s song, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| My cones of lilac, and my wagon team, | 10 | ···/···/˘· |
| More than a world of dream. | 6 | ······ |
| But still | 2 | ·· |
| A voice calls from the hill-- | 6 | ······ |
| I must away-- | 4 | ··˘/ |
| I cannot hear your argument to-day. | 9 | ·/˘··/˘·· |
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.