Insult Not the Fallen
I tell you, hush! no word of sneering scorn--True, fallen; but God knows how deep her sorrow.Poor girl! too many like her only bornTo love one day--to sin--and die the morrow.What know you of her struggles or her grief?Or what wild storms of want and woe and painTore down her soul from honor? As a leafFrom autumn branches, or a drop of rainThat hung in frailest splendor from a bough--Bright, glistening in the sunlight of God's day--So had she clung to virtue once. But now--See Heaven's clear pearl polluted with earth's clay!The sin is yours--with your accursed gold--Man's wealth is master--woman's soul the slave!Some purest water still the mire may hold.Is there no hope for her--no power to save?Yea, once again to draw up from the clayThe fallen raindrop, till it shine above,Or save a fallen soul, needs but one rayOf Heaven's sunshine, or of human love.
Words in this poem
- tore n.
- The dead grass that remains on mowing land in winter and spring. Mortimer. [Probably from the root of tear; cf. W. tór a break, cut, tóri to break, cut.]
- clung a.
- Wasted away; shrunken. [Prop. p. p. fr. OE. clingen to wither. See Cling, v. i.]
- wealth n.
- Weal; welfare; prosperity; good. [OE. welthe, from wele; cf. D. weelde luxury. See Weal prosperity.]
- raindrop n.
- A drop of rain.
- needs adv.
- Of necessity; necessarily; indispensably; -- often with must, and equivalent to of need. [Orig. gen. of need, used as an adverb. Cf. - wards.]
- sunshine n.
- The light of the sun, or the place where it shines; the direct rays of the sun, the place where they fall, or the warmth and light which they give.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Insult Not the Fallen is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #8775, the various hands translation; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Victor Hugo, Insult Not the Fallen, in Poems (1888), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #8775, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hugo-poems/insult-not-the-fallen.html, id L26758.
Form and metre
Insult Not the Fallen is 20 lines in a single stanza. It rhymes ABABCDCDEFEFGHGHFIFI. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 90%).
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 ABABCDCDEFEFGHGHFIFI scornA · sorrowB · bornA · morrowB · griefC · painD · leafC · rainD · boughE · dayF · nowE · clayF · goldG · slaveH · holdG · saveH · clayF · aboveI · rayF · loveI
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 tell you, hush! no word of sneering scorn-- | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| True, fallen; but God knows how deep her sorrow. | 11 | ·/˘······/˘ |
| Poor girl! too many like her only born | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| To love one day--to sin--and die the morrow. | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| What know you of her struggles or her grief? | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Or what wild storms of want and woe and pain | 10 | ·········· |
| Tore down her soul from honor? As a leaf | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| From autumn branches, or a drop of rain | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| That hung in frailest splendor from a bough-- | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Bright, glistening in the sunlight of God's day-- | 10 | ·/˘··/···· |
| So had she clung to virtue once. But now-- | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| See Heaven's clear pearl polluted with earth's clay! | 11 | ·/˘··˘/˘··· |
| The sin is yours--with your accursed gold-- | 10 | ········˘· |
| Man's wealth is master--woman's soul the slave! | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Some purest water still the mire may hold. | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| Is there no hope for her--no power to save? | 10 | ·······/·· |
| Yea, once again to draw up from the clay | 10 | ··˘/······ |
| The fallen raindrop, till it shine above, | 10 | ·/˘/······ |
| Or save a fallen soul, needs but one ray | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Of Heaven's sunshine, or of human love. | 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.