Epilogue
These, to you now, O, more than ever now—Now that the Ancient EnemyHas passed, and we, we two that are one, have seenA piece of perfect LifeTurn to so ravishing a shape of DeathThe Arch-Discomforter might well have smiledIn pity and pride,Even as he bore his lovely and innocent spoilFrom those home-kingdoms he left desolate!
Poor windlestrawsOn the great, sullen, roaring pool of TimeAnd Chance and Change, I know!But they are yours, as I am, till we attainThat end for which me make, we two that are one:A little, exquisite GhostBetween us, smiling with the serenest eyesSeen in this world, and calling, calling stillIn that clear voice whose infinite subtletiesOf sweetness, thrilling back across the grave,Break the poor heart to hear:—‘Come, Dadsie, come!Mama, how long—how long!’
Words in this poem
- ravishing a.
- Rapturous; transporting.
- sullen a.
- Lonely; solitary; desolate. Wyclif (Job iii. 14). [OE. solein, solain, lonely, sullen; through Old French fr. (assumed) LL. solanus solitary, fr. L. solus alone. See Sole, a.]
- ghost n.
- The spirit; the soul of man. [OE. gast, gost, soul, spirit, AS. gast breath, spirit, soul; akin to OS. g spirit, soul, D. geest, G. geist, and prob. to E. gaze, ghastly.]
- thrilling a.
- Causing a thrill; causing tremulous excitement; deeply moving; as, a thrilling romance.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Epilogue is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #1568; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: W. E. Henley, Epilogue, in Poems (1898), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1568, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/henley-poems/epilogue.html, id L12462.
Form and metre
Epilogue is 22 lines in 2 verse paragraphs. It is unrhymed, as far as the pronouncing dictionary can tell. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 78%). 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.3 syllables. 3 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 59% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic pentameter, other poems in blank verse.
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.
- 2 ------A-A---- windlestraws · time · know · attain · one · ghost · eyesA · still · subtletiesA · grave · hear · come · long
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 |
|---|---|---|
| These, to you now, O, more than ever now— | 9 | ·······/· |
| Now that the Ancient Enemy | 8 | ···/˘/˘˘ |
| Has passed, and we, we two that are one, have seen | 11 | ··········· |
| A piece of perfect Life | 6 | ···˘/· |
| Turn to so ravishing a shape of Death | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| The Arch-Discomforter might well have smiled | 10 | ·········· |
| In pity and pride, | 5 | ·/˘·· |
| Even as he bore his lovely and innocent spoil | 11 | /····/˘·/˘· |
| From those home-kingdoms he left desolate! | 9 | ···/˘··/˘ |
| Poor windlestraws | 4 | ···· |
| On the great, sullen, roaring pool of Time | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| And Chance and Change, I know! | 6 | ······ |
| But they are yours, as I am, till we attain | 11 | ·········˘/ |
| That end for which me make, we two that are one: | 11 | ··········· |
| A little, exquisite Ghost | 7 | ·/˘/˘˘· |
| Between us, smiling with the serenest eyes | 11 | ···/˘··˘/˘· |
| Seen in this world, and calling, calling still | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| In that clear voice whose infinite subtleties | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| Of sweetness, thrilling back across the grave, | 10 | ·/˘/˘·˘/·· |
| Break the poor heart to hear:— | 6 | ······ |
| ‘Come, Dadsie, come! | 4 | ···· |
| Mama, how long—how long!’ | 6 | /˘···· |
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.