Cities
Can we believe--by an effortcomfort our hearts:it is not waste all this,not placed here in disgust,street after street,each patterned alike,no grace to lightena single house of the hundredcrowded into one garden-space.
Crowded--can we believe,not in utter disgust,in ironical play--but the maker of cities grew faintwith the beauty of templeand space before temple,arch upon perfect arch,of pillars and corridors that led outto strange court-yards and porcheswhere sun-light stampedhyacinth-shadowsblack on the pavement.
That the maker of cities grew faintwith the splendour of palaces,paused while the incense-flowersfrom the incense-treesdropped on the marble-walk,thought anew, fashioned this--street after street alike.
For alas,he had crowded the city so fullthat men could not grasp beauty,beauty was over them,through them, about them,no crevice unpacked with the honey,rare, measureless.
So he built a new city,ah can we believe, not ironicallybut for new splendourconstructed new peopleto lift through slow growthto a beauty unrivalled yet--and created new cells,hideous first, hideous now--spread larve across them,not honey but seething life.
And in these dark cells,packed street after street,souls live, hideous yet--O disfigured, defaced,with no trace of the beautymen once held so light.
Can we think a few old cellswere left--we are left--grains of honey,old dust of stray pollendull on our torn wings,we are left to recall the old streets?
Is our task the less sweetthat the larve still sleep in their cells?Or crawl out to attack our frail strength:You are useless. We live.We await great events.We are spread through this earth.We protect our strong race.You are useless.Your cell takes the placeof our young future strength.
Though they sleep or wake to tormentand wish to displace our old cells--thin rare gold--that their larve grow fat--is our task the less sweet?
Though we wander about,find no honey of flowers in this waste,is our task the less sweet--who recall the old splendour,await the new beauty of cities?
Though they crowded betweenand usurped the kiss of my mouththeir breath was your gift,their beauty, your life.
Words in this poem
- splendour n.
- Great brightness; brilliant luster; brilliancy; as, the splendor ot the sun. B. Jonson. [L. fr. splendere to shine: cf. F. splendeur.]
- measureless a.
- Without measure; unlimited; immeasurable.
- pollen n.
- Fine bran or flour. Bailey.
- crawl v. i.
- To move slowly by drawing the body along the ground, as a worm; to move slowly on hands and kness; to creep. [Dan. kravle, or Icel. krafla, to paw, scrabble with the hands; akin to Sw. kr to crawl; cf. LG. krabbeln, D. krabbelen to scratch.]
- await v. t.
- To watch for; to look out for. [OF. awaitier, agaitier; (L. ad) + waitier, gaitier to watch, F. guetter. See Wait.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Cities is in the public domain. This text is taken from Sea Garden, Project Gutenberg ebook #28665; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: H.D., Cities, in Sea Garden (1916), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #28665, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hd-sea-garden/cities.html, id L08284.
Form and metre
Cities is 81 lines in 11 stanzas. The metre is iambic trimeter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 75%). 83% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 6.4 syllables. 22 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 31% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic trimeter.
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---A---- effortA · hearts · this · disgust · streetA · alike · lighten · hundred · space
- 2 ----AA--B-B- believe · disgust · play · faint · templeA · templeA · arch · out · porchesB · stamped · shadowsB · pavement
- 3 -AAA--- faint · palacesA · flowersA · treesA · walk · this · alike
- 4 ---AA-- alas · full · beauty · themA · themA · honey · measureless
- 8 --A---BBBA sweet · cells · strengthA · live · events · earth · raceB · uselessB · placeB · strengthA
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 trimeter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Can we believe--by an effort | 8 | ··˘/··/˘ |
| comfort our hearts: | 5 | /˘/˘· |
| it is not waste all this, | 6 | ······ |
| not placed here in disgust, | 6 | ····˘/ |
| street after street, | 4 | ···· |
| each patterned alike, | 5 | ·/˘˘/ |
| no grace to lighten | 5 | ···/˘ |
| a single house of the hundred | 8 | ·/˘···/˘ |
| crowded into one garden-space. | 8 | /˘···/˘· |
| Crowded--can we believe, | 6 | /˘··˘/ |
| not in utter disgust, | 6 | ··/˘˘/ |
| in ironical play-- | 6 | ·˘/˘˘· |
| but the maker of cities grew faint | 9 | ··/˘·/˘·· |
| with the beauty of temple | 7 | ··/˘·/˘ |
| and space before temple, | 6 | ····/˘ |
| arch upon perfect arch, | 6 | ···˘/· |
| of pillars and corridors that led out | 10 | ·/˘·/˘˘··· |
| to strange court-yards and porches | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| where sun-light stamped | 4 | ···· |
| hyacinth-shadows | 5 | /˘·/· |
| black on the pavement. | 5 | ···/˘ |
| That the maker of cities grew faint | 9 | ··/˘·/˘·· |
| with the splendour of palaces, | 8 | ··/˘·/˘˘ |
| paused while the incense-flowers | 7 | ···˘//˘ |
| from the incense-trees | 5 | ··˘/· |
| dropped on the marble-walk, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| thought anew, fashioned this-- | 6 | ·˘//˘· |
| street after street alike. | 6 | ····˘/ |
| For alas, | 3 | ·˘/ |
| he had crowded the city so full | 9 | ··/˘·/˘·· |
| that men could not grasp beauty, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| beauty was over them, | 6 | /˘···· |
| through them, about them, | 5 | ····· |
| no crevice unpacked with the honey, | 9 | ·/˘˘/··/˘ |
| rare, measureless. | 4 | ·/˘˘ |
| So he built a new city, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| ah can we believe, not ironically | 10 | ···˘/·˘/˘˘ |
| but for new splendour | 5 | ···/˘ |
| constructed new people | 6 | ˘/˘·/˘ |
| to lift through slow growth | 5 | ····· |
| to a beauty unrivalled yet-- | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| and created new cells, | 6 | ·˘/˘·· |
| hideous first, hideous now-- | 8 | /˘˘·/˘˘· |
| spread larve across them, | 5 | ··˘/· |
| not honey but seething life. | 7 | ·/˘·/˘· |
| And in these dark cells, | 5 | ····· |
| packed street after street, | 5 | ····· |
| souls live, hideous yet-- | 6 | ··/˘˘· |
| O disfigured, defaced, | 6 | ·˘/˘˘/ |
| with no trace of the beauty | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| men once held so light. | 5 | ····· |
| Can we think a few old cells | 7 | ······· |
| were left--we are left-- | 5 | ····· |
| grains of honey, | 4 | ··/˘ |
| old dust of stray pollen | 6 | ····/˘ |
| dull on our torn wings, | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| we are left to recall the old streets? | 9 | ····/···· |
| Is our task the less sweet | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| that the larve still sleep in their cells? | 8 | ········ |
| Or crawl out to attack our frail strength: | 10 | ····˘//˘·· |
| You are useless. We live. | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| We await great events. | 6 | ·˘/·˘/ |
| We are spread through this earth. | 6 | ······ |
| We protect our strong race. | 7 | ·˘//˘·· |
| You are useless. | 4 | ··/˘ |
| Your cell takes the place | 5 | ····· |
| of our young future strength. | 7 | ·/˘·/˘· |
| Though they sleep or wake to torment | 8 | ······/· |
| and wish to displace our old cells-- | 9 | ···˘//˘·· |
| thin rare gold-- | 3 | ··· |
| that their larve grow fat-- | 5 | ····· |
| is our task the less sweet? | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| Though we wander about, | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| find no honey of flowers in this waste, | 10 | ··/˘·/˘··· |
| is our task the less sweet-- | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| who recall the old splendour, | 7 | ·/···/˘ |
| await the new beauty of cities? | 9 | ˘/··/˘·/˘ |
| Though they crowded between | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| and usurped the kiss of my mouth | 8 | ··/····· |
| their breath was your gift, | 5 | ····· |
| their beauty, your life. | 5 | ·/˘·· |
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.