The world is still. How still it is!
The world is still. How still it is!About my avid stretching earsThe earth is pulseless in the dimSilence that flows into themAnd forms behind my eyes, untilMy head is full: I feel it spillLike water down my breast. The world,A muted violin where are curledPan's fingers, waits, supine and coldAnd bound soundlessly in foldOn fold of blind calm rockEdgeless in the moonlight's shock,Until the hand that grasps the bowDescends; then grave and strong and lowIt rises to his waiting ears.The music of all passing yearsFlows over him and down his breastOf ice and gold, as in the westSunsets flame, and all dawns burnEastwardly, and calm skies turnAlways about his frozen head:Peace for living, peace for dead.
And the hand that draws the bowStops not, as grave and strong and lowAbout his cloudy head it curlsThe endless sorrow of all worlds,The while he bends dry stricken eyesAbove the throngs; perhaps he sighsFor all the full world watching himAs seasons change from bright to dim.
And my eyes too are cool with tearsFor the stately marching years,For old earth dumb and strong and sadWith life so willy-nilly clad,And mute and impotent like meWho marble bound must ever be;And my carven eyes embraceThe dark world's dumbly dreaming face,For my crooked limbs have pressedHer all-wise pain-softened breastUntil my hungry heart is fullOf aching bliss unbearable.
Words in this poem
- avid a.
- Longing eagerly for; eager; greedy. [L. avidus, fr. av to long: cf. F. avide. See Avarice.]
- pulseless a.
- Having no pulsation; lifeless.
- spill n.
- A bit of wood split off; a splinter. [sq. root170. Cf. Spell a splinter.]
- supine a.
- Lying on the back, or with the face upward; -- opposed to prone. [L. supinus, akin to sub under, super above. Cf. Sub-, Super-.]
- edgeless a.
- Without an edge; not sharp; blunt; obtuse; as, an edgeless sword or weapon.
- stricken p. p.
- Struck; smitten; wounded; as, the stricken deer.
- clad v.
- To clothe. Holland.
- carven a.
- Wrought by carving; ornamented by carvings; carved.
- dumbly adv.
- In silence; mutely.
- aching a.
- That aches; continuously painful. See Ache.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The world is still. How still it is! is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Marble Faun, Wikisource; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: William Faulkner, The world is still. How still it is!, in The Marble Faun (1924), text of Wikisource, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/faulkner-marble-faun/section-10.html, id L28622.
Form and metre
The world is still. How still it is! is 42 lines in 3 verse paragraphs. It is in rhyming couplets, 86% of the lines: octosyllabic couplets. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 91%).
See other poems in octosyllabic couplets, 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--BBCCDDEEFFAAGGHHII is · earsA · dim · them · untilB · spillB · worldC · curledC · coldD · foldD · rockE · shockE · bowF · lowF · earsA · yearsA · breastG · westG · burnH · turnH · headI · deadI
- 2 AA--BBCC bowA · lowA · curls · worlds · eyesB · sighsB · himC · dimC
- 3 AABBCCDDEEFF tearsA · yearsA · sadB · cladB · meC · beC · embraceD · faceD · pressedE · breastE · fullF · unbearableF
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 |
|---|---|---|
| The world is still. How still it is! | 8 | ········ |
| About my avid stretching ears | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| The earth is pulseless in the dim | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Silence that flows into them | 7 | /˘····· |
| And forms behind my eyes, until | 8 | ········ |
| My head is full: I feel it spill | 8 | ········ |
| Like water down my breast. The world, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| A muted violin where are curled | 8 | ·/˘˘/··· |
| Pan's fingers, waits, supine and cold | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| And bound soundlessly in fold | 7 | ······· |
| On fold of blind calm rock | 6 | ······ |
| Edgeless in the moonlight's shock, | 7 | /˘··/·· |
| Until the hand that grasps the bow | 8 | ········ |
| Descends; then grave and strong and low | 8 | ˘/······ |
| It rises to his waiting ears. | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| The music of all passing years | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Flows over him and down his breast | 8 | ········ |
| Of ice and gold, as in the west | 8 | ········ |
| Sunsets flame, and all dawns burn | 7 | /······ |
| Eastwardly, and calm skies turn | 7 | ······· |
| Always about his frozen head: | 8 | /····/˘· |
| Peace for living, peace for dead. | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| And the hand that draws the bow | 7 | ······· |
| Stops not, as grave and strong and low | 8 | ········ |
| About his cloudy head it curls | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| The endless sorrow of all worlds, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| The while he bends dry stricken eyes | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Above the throngs; perhaps he sighs | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| For all the full world watching him | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| As seasons change from bright to dim. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And my eyes too are cool with tears | 8 | ········ |
| For the stately marching years, | 7 | ··/˘/˘· |
| For old earth dumb and strong and sad | 8 | ········ |
| With life so willy-nilly clad, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| And mute and impotent like me | 8 | ···/˘˘·· |
| Who marble bound must ever be; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| And my carven eyes embrace | 7 | ··/˘·˘/ |
| The dark world's dumbly dreaming face, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| For my crooked limbs have pressed | 8 | ··/˘˘··· |
| Her all-wise pain-softened breast | 8 | ····/˘˘· |
| Until my hungry heart is full | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Of aching bliss unbearable. | 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.