Sealed
The doves call down the long arcades of pine,The screaming swifts are tiring towards their eaves,And you are very quiet, O lover of mine.
No foot is on your ploughlands now, the songFails and is no more heard among your leavesThat wearied not in praise the whole day long.
I have watched with you till this twilight-fall,The proud companion of your loveliness;Have you no word for me, no word at all?
The passion of my thought I have given you,Striving towards your passion, nevertheless,The clover leaves are deepening to the dew,
And I am still unsatisfied, untaught.You lie guarded in mystery, you goInto your night, and leave your lover naught.
Would I were Titan with immeasurable thewsTo hold you trembling, lover of mine, and knowTo the full the secret savour that you use
Now to my tormenting. I would drainYour beauty to the last sharp glory of it;You should work mightily through me, blood and brain.
Your heart in my heart’s mastery should burn,And you before my swift and arrogant witShould be no longer proudly taciturn.
You should bend back astonished at my kiss,Your wisdom should be armourer to my pride,And you, subdued, should yet be glad of this.
The joys of great heroic lovers deadShould seem but market-gossiping besideThe annunciation of our bridal bed.
And now, my lover earth, I am a leaf,A wave of light, a bird’s note, a blade sprungTowards the oblivion of the sickled sheaf;
A mere mote driven against your royal ease,A tattered eager traveller amongThe myriads beating on your sanctuaries.
I have no strength to crush you to my will,Your beauty is invulnerably zoned,Yet I, your undefeated lover still,
Exulting in your sap am clear of shame,And biding with you patiently am thronedAbove the flight of desolation’s aim.
You may be mute, bestow no recompenseOn all the thriftless leaguers of my soul--I am at your gates, O lover of mine, and thence
Will I not turn for any scorn you send,Rebuked, bemused, yet is my purpose whole,I shall be striving towards you till the end.
Words in this poem 16
- screaming a.
- Uttering screams; shrieking.
- loveliness n.
- The state or quality of being lovely. [From Lovely.]
- savour v. t.
- To perceive by the smell or the taste; hence, to perceive; to note. B. Jonson.
- mightily adv.
- In a mighty manner; with might; with great earnestness; vigorously; powerfully. [From Mighty.]
- taciturn a.
- Habitually silent; not given to converse; not apt to talk or speak. [L. taciturnus: cf. F. taciturne. See Tacit.]
- annunciation n.
- The act of announcing; announcement; proclamation; as, the annunciation of peace. [L. annuntiatio: cf. F. annonciation.]
- oblivion n.
- The act of forgetting, or the state of being forgotten; cessation of remembrance; forgetfulness. [L. oblivio, akin to oblivisci to forget: cf. OF. oblivion.]
- sickled a.
- Furnished with a sickle.
- mote n.
- A meeting of persons for discussion; as, a wardmote in the city of London. [See Moot, a meeting.]
- zoned a.
- Wearing a zone, or girdle.
- exulting a.
- Rejoicing triumphantly or exceedingly; exultant.
- biding n.
- Residence; habitation. Rowe.
- patiently adv.
- In a patient manner.
- desolation n.
- The act of desolating or laying waste; destruction of inhabitants; depopulation. [F. désolation, L. desolatio.]
- thriftless a.
- Without thrift; not prudent or prosperous in money affairs.
- 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,]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Sealed 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, Sealed, in Poems, 1908-1919 (1919), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #51575, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/drinkwater-poems/sealed.html, id L23030.
Form and metre
Sealed is 48 lines in 16 stanzas of 3 lines each. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 85%).
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 ABA pineA · eavesB · mineA
- 2 CBC songC · leavesB · longC
- 3 D-D fallD · loveliness · allD
- 4 E-E youE · nevertheless · dewE
- 5 FGF untaughtF · goG · naughtF
- 6 -G- thews · knowG · use
- 7 HIH drainH · itI · brainH
- 8 JIJ burnJ · witI · taciturnJ
- 9 KLK kissK · prideL · thisK
- 10 MLM deadM · besideL · bedM
- 11 NON leafN · sprungO · sheafN
- 12 -O- ease · amongO · sanctuaries
- 13 PQP willP · zonedQ · stillP
- 14 RQR shameR · thronedQ · aimR
- 15 STS recompenseS · soulT · thenceS
- 16 UTU sendU · wholeT · endU
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 |
|---|---|---|
| The doves call down the long arcades of pine, | 10 | ······˘/·· |
| The screaming swifts are tiring towards their eaves, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| And you are very quiet, O lover of mine. | 11 | ···/˘/·/˘·· |
| No foot is on your ploughlands now, the song | 10 | ·········· |
| Fails and is no more heard among your leaves | 10 | ·········· |
| That wearied not in praise the whole day long. | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| I have watched with you till this twilight-fall, | 10 | ·······/·· |
| The proud companion of your loveliness; | 10 | ··˘/˘··/˘˘ |
| Have you no word for me, no word at all? | 10 | ·········· |
| The passion of my thought I have given you, | 10 | ·/˘·····/· |
| Striving towards your passion, nevertheless, | 10 | /˘··/˘·˘˘/ |
| The clover leaves are deepening to the dew, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| And I am still unsatisfied, untaught. | 10 | ····˘/˘··· |
| You lie guarded in mystery, you go | 10 | ··/˘·/˘˘·· |
| Into your night, and leave your lover naught. | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Would I were Titan with immeasurable thews | 12 | ···/˘·˘/˘·˘· |
| To hold you trembling, lover of mine, and know | 11 | ···/˘/˘···· |
| To the full the secret savour that you use | 11 | ····/˘/˘··· |
| Now to my tormenting. I would drain | 9 | ···/·˘··· |
| Your beauty to the last sharp glory of it; | 11 | ·/˘····/˘·· |
| You should work mightily through me, blood and brain. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Your heart in my heart’s mastery should burn, | 10 | ·····/˘˘·· |
| And you before my swift and arrogant wit | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Should be no longer proudly taciturn. | 10 | ···/˘/˘/˘· |
| You should bend back astonished at my kiss, | 10 | ····˘/˘··· |
| Your wisdom should be armourer to my pride, | 11 | ·/˘········ |
| And you, subdued, should yet be glad of this. | 10 | ··˘/······ |
| The joys of great heroic lovers dead | 10 | ····˘/˘/˘· |
| Should seem but market-gossiping beside | 10 | ···/˘/˘˘˘/ |
| The annunciation of our bridal bed. | 9 | ····/˘/˘· |
| And now, my lover earth, I am a leaf, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| A wave of light, a bird’s note, a blade sprung | 10 | ·········· |
| Towards the oblivion of the sickled sheaf; | 10 | ··˘/˘··/˘· |
| A mere mote driven against your royal ease, | 10 | ···/···/˘· |
| A tattered eager traveller among | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘˘·· |
| The myriads beating on your sanctuaries. | 11 | ·/˘/˘··/˘·˘ |
| I have no strength to crush you to my will, | 10 | ·········· |
| Your beauty is invulnerably zoned, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Yet I, your undefeated lover still, | 10 | ····˘/˘/˘· |
| Exulting in your sap am clear of shame, | 10 | ˘/˘······· |
| And biding with you patiently am throned | 10 | ·/˘··/˘˘·· |
| Above the flight of desolation’s aim. | 10 | ······˘/˘· |
| You may be mute, bestow no recompense | 10 | ····˘/·/˘· |
| On all the thriftless leaguers of my soul-- | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| I am at your gates, O lover of mine, and thence | 12 | ······/˘···· |
| Will I not turn for any scorn you send, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Rebuked, bemused, yet is my purpose whole, | 10 | ˘/˘/···/˘· |
| I shall be striving towards you till the end. | 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.