Iris, Her Book
I PRAY thee by the soul of her that bore thee,By thine own sister's spirit I implore thee,Deal gently with the leaves that lie before thee!
For Iris had no mother to infold her,Nor ever leaned upon a sister's shoulder,Telling the twilight thoughts that Nature told her.
She had not learned the mystery of awakingThose chorded keys that soothe a sorrow's aching,Giving the dumb heart voice, that else were breaking.
Yet lived, wrought, suffered. Lo, the pictured tokenWhy should her fleeting day-dreams fade unspoken,Like daffodils that die with sheaths unbroken?
She knew not love, yet lived in maiden fancies,--Walked simply clad, a queen of high romances,And talked strange tongues with angels in her trances.
Twin-souled she seemed, a twofold nature wearing:Sometimes a flashing falcon in her daring,Then a poor mateless dove that droops despairing.
Questioning all things: Why her Lord had sent her?What were these torturing gifts, and wherefore lent her?Scornful as spirit fallen, its own tormentor.
And then all tears and anguish: Queen of Heaven,Sweet Saints, and Thou by mortal sorrows riven,Save me! Oh, save me! Shall I die forgiven?
And then--Ah, God! But nay, it little matters:Look at the wasted seeds that autumn scatters,The myriad germs that Nature shapes and shatters!
If she had--Well! She longed, and knew not wherefore.Had the world nothing she might live to care for?No second self to say her evening prayer for?
She knew the marble shapes that set men dreaming,Yet with her shoulders bare and tresses streamingShowed not unlovely to her simple seeming.
Vain? Let it be so! Nature was her teacher.What if a lonely and unsistered creatureLoved her own harmless gift of pleasing feature,
Saying, unsaddened,--This shall soon be faded,And double-hued the shining tresses braided,And all the sunlight of the morning shaded?
This her poor book is full of saddest follies,Of tearful smiles and laughing melancholies,With summer roses twined and wintry hollies.
In the strange crossing of uncertain chances,Somewhere, beneath some maiden's tear-dimmed glancesMay fall her little book of dreams and fancies.
Sweet sister! Iris, who shall never name thee,Trembling for fear her open heart may shame thee,Speaks from this vision-haunted page to claim thee.
Spare her, I pray thee! If the maid is sleeping,Peace with her! she has had her hour of weeping.No more! She leaves her memory in thy keeping.
Words in this poem 15
- soothe v. t.
- To assent to as true. Testament of Love. [Originally, to assent to as true; OE. so to verify, AS. ges to prove the truth of, to bear witness. See Sooth, a.]
- aching a.
- That aches; continuously painful. See Ache.
- pictured a.
- Furnished with pictures; represented by a picture or pictures; as, a pictured scene.
- clad v.
- To clothe. Holland.
- mateless a.
- Having no mate. [Cf. Matchless.]
- despairing a.
- Feeling or expressing despair; hopeless.
- wherefore adv.
- For which reason; so; -- used relatively. [Where + for.]
- tormentor n.
- One who, or that which, torments; one who inflicts penal anguish or tortures. Jer. Taylor.
- 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,]
- myriad n.
- The number of ten thousand; ten thousand persons or things. [Gr. myriade.]
- streaming a.
- Sending forth streams.
- unlovely a.
- Not lovely; not amiable; possessing qualities that excite dislike; disagreeable; displeasing; unpleasant.
- tearful a.
- Abounding with tears; weeping; shedding tears; as, tearful eyes.
- wintry a.
- Suitable to winter; resembling winter, or what belongs to winter; brumal; hyemal; cold; stormy; wintery. [AS. wintrig.]
- somewhere adv.
- In some place unknown or not specified; in one place or another.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Iris, Her Book is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 06 Poems from the Breakfast Table Series, Project Gutenberg ebook #7393; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Iris, Her Book, in Poems from the Breakfast-Table Series (1858), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #7393, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/holmes-breakfast-table-poems/iris-her-book.html, id L23575.
Form and metre
Iris, Her Book is 51 lines in 17 stanzas of 3 lines each. It is in rhyming couplets, 63% of the lines: heroic couplets. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 90%).
See other poems in heroic couplets, 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 AAA theeA · theeA · theeA
- 2 A-A herA · shoulder · herA
- 3 AAA awakingA · achingA · breakingA
- 4 AAA tokenA · unspokenA · unbrokenA
- 5 -AA fancies · romancesA · trancesA
- 6 AAA wearingA · daringA · despairingA
- 7 AA- herA · herA · tormentor
- 8 -AA heaven · rivenA · forgivenA
- 9 AAA mattersA · scattersA · shattersA
- 10 AAA whereforeA · forA · forA
- 11 AAA dreamingA · streamingA · seemingA
- 12 AAA teacherA · creatureA · featureA
- 13 AAA fadedA · braidedA · shadedA
- 14 AAA folliesA · melancholiesA · holliesA
- 15 AA- chancesA · glancesA · fancies
- 16 AAA theeA · theeA · theeA
- 17 AAA sleepingA · weepingA · keepingA
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 |
|---|---|---|
| I PRAY thee by the soul of her that bore thee, | 11 | ··········· |
| By thine own sister's spirit I implore thee, | 10 | ···/˘/·˘/· |
| Deal gently with the leaves that lie before thee! | 11 | ·/˘········ |
| For Iris had no mother to infold her, | 11 | ·/˘··/˘·˘/· |
| Nor ever leaned upon a sister's shoulder, | 11 | ·/˘····/˘/˘ |
| Telling the twilight thoughts that Nature told her. | 11 | /˘·/···/˘·· |
| She had not learned the mystery of awaking | 11 | ·····/˘·˘/˘ |
| Those chorded keys that soothe a sorrow's aching, | 11 | ·/˘····/˘/˘ |
| Giving the dumb heart voice, that else were breaking. | 11 | /˘·······/˘ |
| Yet lived, wrought, suffered. Lo, the pictured token | 11 | ···/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Why should her fleeting day-dreams fade unspoken, | 11 | ···/˘···˘/˘ |
| Like daffodils that die with sheaths unbroken? | 11 | ·/˘·····˘/˘ |
| She knew not love, yet lived in maiden fancies,-- | 11 | ·······/˘/˘ |
| Walked simply clad, a queen of high romances, | 11 | ·/˘·····˘/˘ |
| And talked strange tongues with angels in her trances. | 11 | ·····/˘··/˘ |
| Twin-souled she seemed, a twofold nature wearing: | 11 | ·····///˘/˘ |
| Sometimes a flashing falcon in her daring, | 11 | ˘/·/˘/˘··/˘ |
| Then a poor mateless dove that droops despairing. | 11 | ···/˘···˘/˘ |
| Questioning all things: Why her Lord had sent her? | 10 | /˘········ |
| What were these torturing gifts, and wherefore lent her? | 11 | ···/˘··/˘·· |
| Scornful as spirit fallen, its own tormentor. | 11 | /˘·//˘··/·˘ |
| And then all tears and anguish: Queen of Heaven, | 11 | ·····/˘··/˘ |
| Sweet Saints, and Thou by mortal sorrows riven, | 11 | ·····/˘/˘/˘ |
| Save me! Oh, save me! Shall I die forgiven? | 11 | ········˘/˘ |
| And then--Ah, God! But nay, it little matters: | 11 | ·······/˘/˘ |
| Look at the wasted seeds that autumn scatters, | 11 | ···/˘··/˘/˘ |
| The myriad germs that Nature shapes and shatters! | 11 | ·/˘··/˘··/˘ |
| If she had--Well! She longed, and knew not wherefore. | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| Had the world nothing she might live to care for? | 11 | ···/˘······ |
| No second self to say her evening prayer for? | 11 | ·/˘····/˘·· |
| She knew the marble shapes that set men dreaming, | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| Yet with her shoulders bare and tresses streaming | 11 | ···/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Showed not unlovely to her simple seeming. | 11 | ··˘/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Vain? Let it be so! Nature was her teacher. | 11 | ·····/˘··/˘ |
| What if a lonely and unsistered creature | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| Loved her own harmless gift of pleasing feature, | 11 | ···/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Saying, unsaddened,--This shall soon be faded, | 11 | /˘·······/˘ |
| And double-hued the shining tresses braided, | 11 | ·/˘··/˘/˘/˘ |
| And all the sunlight of the morning shaded? | 11 | ···/···/˘/˘ |
| This her poor book is full of saddest follies, | 11 | ·······/˘/˘ |
| Of tearful smiles and laughing melancholies, | 11 | ·/˘··/˘/˘·˘ |
| With summer roses twined and wintry hollies. | 11 | ·/˘/˘··/˘/˘ |
| In the strange crossing of uncertain chances, | 11 | ···/˘·˘/˘/˘ |
| Somewhere, beneath some maiden's tear-dimmed glances | 11 | /····/˘··/˘ |
| May fall her little book of dreams and fancies. | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| Sweet sister! Iris, who shall never name thee, | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/·· |
| Trembling for fear her open heart may shame thee, | 11 | /˘···/˘···· |
| Speaks from this vision-haunted page to claim thee. | 11 | ···/˘/˘···· |
| Spare her, I pray thee! If the maid is sleeping, | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| Peace with her! she has had her hour of weeping. | 11 | ·······/·/˘ |
| No more! She leaves her memory in thy keeping. | 11 | ·····/˘··/˘ |
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.