Beyond
All was for you: and you are dead.For, came there sorrow, came there splendour,You still were mine, and I yours only:Then on my breast lay down your head,Triumphant in its dear surrender:One were we then: though one, not lonely.
Oh, is it you are dead,Both! both dead, since we are asunder:You, sleeping: I, for ever walkingThrough the dark valley, hard and dry.At times I hear the mourning thunder:And voices, in the shadows, talking.
Dear, are there dreams among the dead:Or is it all a perfect slumber?But I must dream and dream to madness.Mine eyes are dark, now yours are fled:Yet see they sorrows without number,Waiting upon one perfect sadness.
So long, the melancholy vale!So full, these weary winds, of sorrow!So harsh, all things! For what counts pity?Still, as each twilight glimmers paleUpon the borders of each morrow,I near me to your sleeping city.
Words in this poem
- splendour n.
- Great brightness; brilliant luster; brilliancy; as, the splendor ot the sun. B. Jonson. [L. fr. splendere to shine: cf. F. splendeur.]
- sadness n.
- Heaviness; firmness.
- vale n.
- A tract of low ground, or of land between hills; a valley. [OE. val, F. val, L. vallis; perhaps akin to Gr. Avalanche, Vail to lower, Valley.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Beyond is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #66520; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Lionel Johnson, Beyond, in Poems (1895), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #66520, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/johnson-lionel-poems/beyond.html, id L12550.
Form and metre
Beyond is 24 lines in 4 stanzas of 6 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABCABC, complete in 3 of its 4 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 90%). 99% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.6 syllables. 16 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 8% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
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 ABCABC deadA · splendourB · onlyC · headA · surrenderB · lonelyC
- 2 -AB-AB dead · asunderA · walkingB · dry · thunderA · talkingB
- 3 ABCABC deadA · slumberB · madnessC · fledA · numberB · sadnessC
- 4 ABCABC valeA · sorrowB · pityC · paleA · morrowB · cityC
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 |
|---|---|---|
| All was for you: and you are dead. | 8 | ········ |
| For, came there sorrow, came there splendour, | 9 | ···/˘··/˘ |
| You still were mine, and I yours only: | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Then on my breast lay down your head, | 8 | ········ |
| Triumphant in its dear surrender: | 9 | ˘/˘···˘/˘ |
| One were we then: though one, not lonely. | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Oh, is it you are dead, | 6 | ······ |
| Both! both dead, since we are asunder: | 9 | ······˘/˘ |
| You, sleeping: I, for ever walking | 9 | ·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Through the dark valley, hard and dry. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| At times I hear the mourning thunder: | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| And voices, in the shadows, talking. | 9 | ·/˘··/·/˘ |
| Dear, are there dreams among the dead: | 8 | ········ |
| Or is it all a perfect slumber? | 9 | ·····/·/˘ |
| But I must dream and dream to madness. | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Mine eyes are dark, now yours are fled: | 8 | ········ |
| Yet see they sorrows without number, | 9 | ···/˘··/˘ |
| Waiting upon one perfect sadness. | 9 | /˘···˘//˘ |
| So long, the melancholy vale! | 8 | ···/˘·˘· |
| So full, these weary winds, of sorrow! | 9 | ···/˘··/˘ |
| So harsh, all things! For what counts pity? | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Still, as each twilight glimmers pale | 8 | ···/·/˘· |
| Upon the borders of each morrow, | 9 | ···/˘··/˘ |
| I near me to your sleeping city. | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
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.