The Singer
The singer only sang the Joy of Life,For all too well, alas! the singer knewHow hard the daily toil, how keen the strife,How salt the falling tear; the joys how few.
He who thinks hard soon finds it hard to live,Learning the Secret Bitterness of Things:So, leaving thought, the singer strove to giveA level lightness to his lyric strings.
He only sang of Love; its joy and pain,But each man in his early season loves;Each finds the old, lost Paradise again,Unfolding leaves, and roses, nesting doves.
And though that sunlit time flies all too fleetly,Delightful Days that dance away too soon!Its early morning freshness lingers sweetlyThroughout life's grey and tedious afternoon.
And he, whose dreams enshrine her tender eyes,And she, whose senses wait his waking hand,Impatient youth, that tired but sleepless lies,Will read perhaps, and reading, understand.
Oh, roseate lips he would have loved to kiss,Oh, eager lovers that he never knew!What should you know of him, or words of his?--But all the songs he sang were sung for you!
Words in this poem
- strife n.
- The act of striving; earnest endeavor. [OF. estrif. See Strive.]
- sunlit a.
- Lighted by the sun.
- fleetly adv.
- In a fleet manner; rapidly.
- afternoon n.
- The part of the day which follows noon, between noon and evening.
- enshrine v. t.
- To inclose in a shrine or chest; hence, to preserve or cherish as something sacred; as, to enshrine something in memory.
- sleepless a.
- Having no sleep; wakeful.
- roseate a.
- Full of roses; rosy; as, roseate bowers. [Cf. L. roseus, rosatus, prepared from roses. See Roseal, Rose.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Singer is in the public domain. This text is taken from India's Love Lyrics, Project Gutenberg ebook #8197; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Laurence Hope, The Singer, in India's Love Lyrics (1901), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #8197, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hope-india/the-singer.html, id L22640.
Form and metre
The Singer is 24 lines in 6 stanzas of 4 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, complete in 5 of its 6 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 95%).
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 ABAB lifeA · knewB · strifeA · fewB
- 2 ABAB liveA · thingsB · giveA · stringsB
- 3 ABAB painA · lovesB · againA · dovesB
- 4 ABAB fleetlyA · soonB · sweetlyA · afternoonB
- 5 ABAB eyesA · handB · liesA · understandB
- 6 -A-A kiss · knewA · his · youA
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 |
|---|---|---|
| The singer only sang the Joy of Life, | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| For all too well, alas! the singer knew | 10 | ····˘/·/˘· |
| How hard the daily toil, how keen the strife, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| How salt the falling tear; the joys how few. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| He who thinks hard soon finds it hard to live, | 10 | ·········· |
| Learning the Secret Bitterness of Things: | 10 | /˘·/˘/˘˘·· |
| So, leaving thought, the singer strove to give | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| A level lightness to his lyric strings. | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| He only sang of Love; its joy and pain, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| But each man in his early season loves; | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Each finds the old, lost Paradise again, | 10 | ·····/˘·˘/ |
| Unfolding leaves, and roses, nesting doves. | 10 | ˘/˘··/˘/˘· |
| And though that sunlit time flies all too fleetly, | 11 | ···/·····/˘ |
| Delightful Days that dance away too soon! | 10 | ˘/˘···˘/·· |
| Its early morning freshness lingers sweetly | 11 | ·/˘/˘/˘/˘/˘ |
| Throughout life's grey and tedious afternoon. | 10 | ·····/˘·˘/ |
| And he, whose dreams enshrine her tender eyes, | 10 | ····˘/·/˘· |
| And she, whose senses wait his waking hand, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Impatient youth, that tired but sleepless lies, | 10 | ˘/˘··/·/˘· |
| Will read perhaps, and reading, understand. | 10 | ··˘/·/˘·˘/ |
| Oh, roseate lips he would have loved to kiss, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Oh, eager lovers that he never knew! | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| What should you know of him, or words of his?-- | 10 | ·········· |
| But all the songs he sang were sung for you! | 10 | ·········· |
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.