Sonnet 58
Should Love, the tyrant of my suffering heartYet long enough protract his votary’s daysTo see the lustre from those eyes depart,The lode-stars now that fascinate my gaze;To see rude Time the living roses blightThat o’er thy cheek their loveliness unfold,And, all unpitying, change thy tresses brightTo silvery whiteness, from their native gold;Oh! then thy heart an equal change will prove,And mourn the coldness that repell’d my love,When tears and penitence will all be vain;And I shall see thee weep for days gone by,And in thy deep regret and fruitless sigh,Find amplest vengeance for my former pain.
Words in this poem
- lustre n.
- A period of five years; a lustrum. [L. lustrum: cf. F. lustre.]
- depart v. i.
- To part; to divide; to separate. [OE. departen to divide, part, depart, F. départir to divide, distribute, se départir to separate one's self, depart; pref. dé- (L. de) + partir to part, depart,]
- loveliness n.
- The state or quality of being lovely. [From Lovely.]
- 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,]
- fruitless a.
- Lacking, or not bearing, fruit; barren; destitute of offspring; as, a fruitless tree or shrub; a fruitless marriage.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Sonnet 58 is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poems of Felicia Hemans, Project Gutenberg ebook #66785; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Felicia Hemans, Sonnet 58, in Poems (1808–1835), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #66785, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hemans-poems/sonnet-58.html, id L13439.
Form and metre
Sonnet 58 is 14 lines in a single stanza. It rhymes ABABCDCDEEFGGF. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 88%). 96% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 10.1 syllables. 29% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
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 ABABCDCDEEFGGF heartA · daysB · departA · gazeB · blightC · unfoldD · brightC · goldD · proveE · loveE · vainF · byG · sighG · painF
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Should Love, the tyrant of my suffering heart | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Yet long enough protract his votary’s days | 11 | ··˘/˘/····· |
| To see the lustre from those eyes depart, | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| The lode-stars now that fascinate my gaze; | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| To see rude Time the living roses blight | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| That o’er thy cheek their loveliness unfold, | 10 | ·····/˘˘˘/ |
| And, all unpitying, change thy tresses bright | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| To silvery whiteness, from their native gold; | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| Oh! then thy heart an equal change will prove, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| And mourn the coldness that repell’d my love, | 10 | ···/˘·˘/·· |
| When tears and penitence will all be vain; | 10 | ···/˘˘···· |
| And I shall see thee weep for days gone by, | 10 | ·········· |
| And in thy deep regret and fruitless sigh, | 10 | ····˘/·/˘· |
| Find amplest vengeance for my former pain. | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
Notes from the edition 1
Notes from The Poems of Felicia Hemans (Project Gutenberg #66785), largely Mrs Hemans's own.
- Line 4 “Your eyes are lode-stars.”--Shakespeare.
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