The Face at the Casement
IF ever joy leaveAn abiding sting of sorrow,So befell it on the morrowOf that May eve . . .
The travelled sun droppedTo the north-west, low and lower,The pony’s trot grew slower,And then we stopped.
“This cosy house just byI must call at for a minute,A sick man lies within itWho soon will die.
“He wished to marry me,So I am bound, when I drive near him,To inquire, if but to cheer him,How he may be.”
A message was sent in,And wordlessly we waited,Till some one came and statedThe bulletin.
And that the sufferer said,For her call no words could thank her;As his angel he must rank herTill life’s spark fled.
Slowly we drove away,When I turned my head, although notCalled; why so I turned I know notEven to this day.
And lo, there in my viewPressed against an upper latticeWas a white face, gazing at usAs we withdrew.
And well did I divineIt to be the man’s there dying,Who but lately had been sighingFor her pledged mine.
Then I deigned a deed of hell;It was done before I knew it;What devil made me do itI cannot tell!
Yes, while he gazed above,I put my arm about herThat he might see, nor doubt herMy plighted Love.
The pale face vanished quick,As if blasted, from the casement,And my shame and self-abasementBegan their prick.
And they prick on, ceaselessly,For that stab in Love’s fierce fashionWhich, unfired by lover’s passion,Was foreign to me.
She smiled at my caress,But why came the soft embowmentOf her shoulder at that momentShe did not guess.
Long long years has he lainIn thy garth, O sad Saint Cleather:What tears there, bared to weather,Will cleanse that stain!
Love is long-suffering, brave,Sweet, prompt, precious as a jewel;But O, too, Love is cruel,Cruel as the grave.
Words in this poem
- bulletin n.
- A brief statement of facts respecting some passing event, as military operations or the health of some distinguished personage, issued by authority for the information of the public. [F. bulletin, fr. It. bullettino, dim. of bulletta, dim. of bulla, bolla, an edict of the pope, from L. bulla bubble. See Bull an edict.]
- sufferer n.
- One who suffers; one who endures or undergoes suffering; one who sustains inconvenience or loss; as, sufferers by poverty or sickness; men are sufferers by fire or by losses at sea.
- thank n.
- A expression of gratitude; an acknowledgment expressive of a sense of favor or kindness received; obligation, claim, or desert, or gratitude; -- now generally used in the plural. [AS. Þanc, Þonc, thanks, favor, thought; akin to OS. thank favor, pleasure, thanks, D. & G. dank thanks, Icel. Þ\'94kk, Dan. tak, Sw. tack, Goth. Þagks thanks; -]
- drove n.
- A collection of cattle driven, or cattle collected for driving; a number of animals, as oxen, sheep, or swine, driven in a body. [AS. draf, fr. drifan to drive. See Drive.]
- blasted a.
- Blighted; withered.
- casement n.
- A window sash opening on hinges affixed to the upright side of the frame into which it is fitted. (Poetically) A window. [Shortened fr. encasement. See Incase 1st Case, and cf. Incasement.]
- caress n.
- An act of endearment; any act or expression of affection; an embracing, or touching, with tenderness. [F. caresse, It. carezza, LL. caritia dearness, fr. L. carus dear. See Charity.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Face at the Casement is in the public domain. This text is taken from Satires of Circumstance, Lyrics and Reveries, with Miscellaneous Pieces, Project Gutenberg ebook #2863; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Thomas Hardy, The Face at the Casement, in Satires of Circumstance, Lyrics and Reveries (1914), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #2863, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hardy-satires/the-face-at-the-casement.html, id L24008.
Form and metre
The Face at the Casement is 64 lines in 16 stanzas of 4 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABBA, complete in 14 of its 16 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 82%).
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 ABBA leaveA · sorrowB · morrowB · eveA
- 2 ABBA droppedA · lowerB · slowerB · stoppedA
- 3 ABBA byA · minuteB · itB · dieA
- 4 ABBA meA · himB · himB · beA
- 5 -AA- in · waitedA · statedA · bulletin
- 6 ABBA saidA · herB · herB · fledA
- 7 ABBA awayA · notB · notB · dayA
- 8 ABBA viewA · latticeB · usB · withdrewA
- 9 ABBA divineA · dyingB · sighingB · mineA
- 10 ABBA hellA · itB · itB · tellA
- 11 ABBA aboveA · herB · herB · loveA
- 12 ABBA quickA · casementB · abasementB · prickA
- 13 -AA- ceaselessly · fashionA · passionA · me
- 14 ABBA caressA · embowmentB · momentB · guessA
- 15 ABBA lainA · cleatherB · weatherB · stainA
- 16 ABBA braveA · jewelB · cruelB · graveA
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 |
|---|---|---|
| IF ever joy leave | 5 | ·/˘·· |
| An abiding sting of sorrow, | 8 | ·˘/˘··/˘ |
| So befell it on the morrow | 8 | ·˘/···/˘ |
| Of that May eve . . . | 4 | ···· |
| The travelled sun dropped | 5 | ·/˘·· |
| To the north-west, low and lower, | 8 | ······/˘ |
| The pony’s trot grew slower, | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| And then we stopped. | 4 | ···· |
| “This cosy house just by | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| I must call at for a minute, | 8 | ······/˘ |
| A sick man lies within it | 7 | ······· |
| Who soon will die. | 4 | ···· |
| “He wished to marry me, | 7 | ··˘·/˘· |
| So I am bound, when I drive near him, | 9 | ········· |
| To inquire, if but to cheer him, | 8 | ·˘/····· |
| How he may be.” | 4 | ···· |
| A message was sent in, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| And wordlessly we waited, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Till some one came and stated | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| The bulletin. | 4 | ·/˘˘ |
| And that the sufferer said, | 7 | ···/˘˘· |
| For her call no words could thank her; | 8 | ········ |
| As his angel he must rank her | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| Till life’s spark fled. | 4 | ···· |
| Slowly we drove away, | 6 | /˘··˘/ |
| When I turned my head, although not | 8 | ········ |
| Called; why so I turned I know not | 8 | ········ |
| Even to this day. | 5 | /˘··· |
| And lo, there in my view | 6 | ······ |
| Pressed against an upper lattice | 8 | ····/˘/˘ |
| Was a white face, gazing at us | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| As we withdrew. | 4 | ··˘/ |
| And well did I divine | 6 | ····˘/ |
| It to be the man’s there dying, | 8 | ······/˘ |
| Who but lately had been sighing | 8 | ··/˘··/˘ |
| For her pledged mine. | 4 | ···· |
| Then I deigned a deed of hell; | 8 | ···˘···· |
| It was done before I knew it; | 8 | ········ |
| What devil made me do it | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| I cannot tell! | 4 | ·/˘· |
| Yes, while he gazed above, | 7 | ····˘·· |
| I put my arm about her | 7 | ······· |
| That he might see, nor doubt her | 7 | ······· |
| My plighted Love. | 4 | ·/˘· |
| The pale face vanished quick, | 7 | ···/˘˘· |
| As if blasted, from the casement, | 8 | ··/˘··/˘ |
| And my shame and self-abasement | 8 | ·····˘/˘ |
| Began their prick. | 4 | ˘/·· |
| And they prick on, ceaselessly, | 7 | ····/˘˘ |
| For that stab in Love’s fierce fashion | 8 | ······/˘ |
| Which, unfired by lover’s passion, | 8 | ····/˘/˘ |
| Was foreign to me. | 5 | ·/˘·· |
| She smiled at my caress, | 7 | ··˘··˘/ |
| But why came the soft embowment | 8 | ········ |
| Of her shoulder at that moment | 8 | ··/˘··/˘ |
| She did not guess. | 4 | ···· |
| Long long years has he lain | 6 | ······ |
| In thy garth, O sad Saint Cleather: | 8 | ········ |
| What tears there, bared to weather, | 8 | ····˘·/˘ |
| Will cleanse that stain! | 4 | ···· |
| Love is long-suffering, brave, | 7 | ···/˘˘· |
| Sweet, prompt, precious as a jewel; | 8 | ··/˘··/˘ |
| But O, too, Love is cruel, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Cruel as the grave. | 5 | /˘··· |
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