Midsummer
HERE! sweep these foolish leaves away,I will not crush my brains to-day!Look! are the southern curtains drawn?Fetch me a fan, and so begone!
Not that,--the palm-tree's rustling leafBrought from a parching coral-reefIts breath is heated;--I would swingThe broad gray plumes,--the eagle's wing.
I hate these roses' feverish blood!Pluck me a half-blown lily-bud,A long-stemmed lily from the lake,Cold as a coiling water-snake.
Rain me sweet odors on the air,And wheel me up my Indian chair,And spread some book not overwiseFlat out before my sleepy eyes.
Who knows it not,--this dead recoilOf weary fibres stretched with toil,--The pulse that flutters faint and lowWhen Summer's seething breezes blow!
O Nature! bare thy loving breast,And give thy child one hour of rest,--One little hour to lie unseenBeneath thy scarf of leafy green!
So, curtained by a singing pine,Its murmuring voice shall blend with mine,Till, lost in dreams, my faltering layIn sweeter music dies away.
Words in this poem
- parching a.
- Scorching; burning; drying.
- overwise a.
- Too wise; affectedly wise.
- unseen a.
- Not seen or discovered.
- 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,]
- faltering a.
- Hesitating; trembling.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Midsummer 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, Midsummer, in Poems from the Breakfast-Table Series (1858), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #7393, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/holmes-breakfast-table-poems/midsummer.html, id L23579.
Form and metre
Midsummer is 28 lines in 7 stanzas of 4 lines each. Every stanza rhymes AABB. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 91%).
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 AABB awayA · dayA · drawnB · begoneB
- 2 AABB leafA · reefA · swingB · wingB
- 3 AABB bloodA · budA · lakeB · snakeB
- 4 AABB airA · chairA · overwiseB · eyesB
- 5 AABB recoilA · toilA · lowB · blowB
- 6 AABB breastA · restA · unseenB · greenB
- 7 AABB pineA · mineA · layB · awayB
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 |
|---|---|---|
| HERE! sweep these foolish leaves away, | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| I will not crush my brains to-day! | 8 | ········ |
| Look! are the southern curtains drawn? | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Fetch me a fan, and so begone! | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Not that,--the palm-tree's rustling leaf | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Brought from a parching coral-reef | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Its breath is heated;--I would swing | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| The broad gray plumes,--the eagle's wing. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| I hate these roses' feverish blood! | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Pluck me a half-blown lily-bud, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| A long-stemmed lily from the lake, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Cold as a coiling water-snake. | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Rain me sweet odors on the air, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And wheel me up my Indian chair, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And spread some book not overwise | 8 | ·····/˘˘ |
| Flat out before my sleepy eyes. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Who knows it not,--this dead recoil | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Of weary fibres stretched with toil,-- | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| The pulse that flutters faint and low | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| When Summer's seething breezes blow! | 8 | ·/˘/˘/˘· |
| O Nature! bare thy loving breast, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| And give thy child one hour of rest,-- | 8 | ·····/·· |
| One little hour to lie unseen | 8 | ·/˘/··˘/ |
| Beneath thy scarf of leafy green! | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| So, curtained by a singing pine, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Its murmuring voice shall blend with mine, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Till, lost in dreams, my faltering lay | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| In sweeter music dies away. | 8 | ·/˘/˘·˘/ |
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.