The Fourth Shepherd
On nights like this the huddled sheepAre like white clouds upon the grass,And merry herdsmen guard their sleepAnd chat and watch the big stars pass.
It is a pleasant thing to lieUpon the meadow on the hillWith kindly fellowship near byOf sheep and men of gentle will.
I lean upon my broken crookAnd dream of sheep and grass and men --O shameful eyes that cannot lookOn any honest thing again!
On bloody feet I clambered downAnd fled the wages of my sin,I am the leavings of the town,And meanly serve its meanest inn.
I tramp the courtyard stones in grief,While sleep takes man and beast to her.And every cloud is calling "Thief!"And every star calls "Murderer!"
The hand of God is sure and strong,Nor shall a man forever fleeThe bitter punishment of wrong.The wrath of God is over me!
With ashen bread and wine of tearsShall I be solaced in my pain.I wear through black and endless yearsUpon my brow the mark of Cain.
Poor vagabond, so old and mild,Will they not keep him for a night?And She, a woman great with child,So frail and pitiful and white.
Good people, since the tavern doorIs shut to you, come here instead.See, I have cleansed my stable floorAnd piled fresh hay to make a bed.
Here is some milk and oaten cake.Lie down and sleep and rest you fair,Nor fear, O simple folk, to takeThe bounty of a child of care.
On nights like this the huddled sheep --I never saw a night so fair.How huge the sky is, and how deep!And how the planets flash and glare!
At dawn beside my drowsy flockWhat winged music I have heard!But now the clouds with singing rockAs if the sky were turning bird.
O blinding Light, O blinding Light!Burn through my heart with sweetest pain.O flaming Song, most loudly bright,Consume away my deadly stain!
The stable glows against the sky,And who are these that throng the way?My three old comrades hasten byAnd shining angels kneel and pray.
The door swings wide -- I cannot go --I must and yet I dare not see.Lord, who am I that I should know --
O Whiteness, whiter than the fleeceOf new-washed sheep on April sod!O Breath of Life, O Prince of Peace,O Lamb of God, O Lamb of God!
Words in this poem
- leavings n.
- Things left; remnants; relics.
- 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,]
- ashen a.
- Of or pertaining to the ash tree. [See Ash, the tree.]
- piled a.
- Having a pile or point; pointed. [From 2d Pile.]
- oaten a.
- Consisting of an oat straw or stem; as, an oaten pipe.
- folk n.
- In Anglo-Saxon times, the people of a group of townships or villages; a community; a tribe. [AS. folc; akin to D. volk, OS. & OHG. folk, G. volk, Icel. f, Sw. & Dan. folk, Lith. pulkas crowd, and perh. to E. follow.]
- bounty n.
- Goodness, kindness; virtue; worth. [OE. bounte goodness, kindness, F. bonté, fr. L. bonitas, fr. bonus good, for older duonus; cf. Skr. duvas honor, respect.]
- glare v. i.
- To shine with a bright, dazzling light. [OE. glaren, gloren; cf. AS. glær amber, LG. glaren to glow or burn like coals, D. gloren to glimmer; prob. akin to E. glass.]
- kneel v. i.
- To bend the knee; to fall or rest on the knees; -- sometimes with down. [OE. knelen, cneolien; akin to D. knielen, Dan. knæle. See Knee.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Fourth Shepherd is in the public domain. This text is taken from Trees, and Other Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #263; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Joyce Kilmer, The Fourth Shepherd, in Trees and Other Poems (1914), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #263, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/kilmer-trees/the-fourth-shepherd.html, id L12910.
Form and metre
The Fourth Shepherd is 63 lines in 16 stanzas. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, complete in 14 of its 16 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 94%). 98% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.0 syllables. 1 line ends on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 29% 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 ABAB sheepA · grassB · sleepA · passB
- 2 ABAB lieA · hillB · byA · willB
- 3 ABAB crookA · menB · lookA · againB
- 4 ABAB downA · sinB · townA · innB
- 5 A-A- griefA · her · thiefA · murderer
- 6 ABAB strongA · fleeB · wrongA · meB
- 7 ABAB tearsA · painB · yearsA · cainB
- 8 ABAB mildA · nightB · childA · whiteB
- 9 ABAB doorA · insteadB · floorA · bedB
- 10 ABAB cakeA · fairB · takeA · careB
- 11 ABAB sheepA · fairB · deepA · glareB
- 12 ABAB flockA · heardB · rockA · birdB
- 13 ABAB lightA · painB · brightA · stainB
- 14 ABAB skyA · wayB · byA · prayB
- 15 A-A goA · see · knowA
- 16 ABAB fleeceA · sodB · peaceA · godB
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 |
|---|---|---|
| On nights like this the huddled sheep | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Are like white clouds upon the grass, | 8 | ········ |
| And merry herdsmen guard their sleep | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| And chat and watch the big stars pass. | 8 | ········ |
| It is a pleasant thing to lie | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Upon the meadow on the hill | 8 | ···/···· |
| With kindly fellowship near by | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Of sheep and men of gentle will. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| I lean upon my broken crook | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And dream of sheep and grass and men -- | 8 | ········ |
| O shameful eyes that cannot look | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| On any honest thing again! | 8 | ·/˘/˘·˘/ |
| On bloody feet I clambered down | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| And fled the wages of my sin, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| I am the leavings of the town, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And meanly serve its meanest inn. | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| I tramp the courtyard stones in grief, | 8 | ···/···· |
| While sleep takes man and beast to her. | 8 | ········ |
| And every cloud is calling "Thief!" | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| And every star calls "Murderer!" | 9 | ·/˘˘··/˘˘ |
| The hand of God is sure and strong, | 8 | ········ |
| Nor shall a man forever flee | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| The bitter punishment of wrong. | 8 | ·/˘/˘˘·· |
| The wrath of God is over me! | 8 | ········ |
| With ashen bread and wine of tears | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Shall I be solaced in my pain. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| I wear through black and endless years | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Upon my brow the mark of Cain. | 8 | ········ |
| Poor vagabond, so old and mild, | 8 | ·/˘˘···· |
| Will they not keep him for a night? | 8 | ········ |
| And She, a woman great with child, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| So frail and pitiful and white. | 8 | ···/˘˘·· |
| Good people, since the tavern door | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Is shut to you, come here instead. | 8 | ······˘/ |
| See, I have cleansed my stable floor | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And piled fresh hay to make a bed. | 8 | ········ |
| Here is some milk and oaten cake. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Lie down and sleep and rest you fair, | 8 | ········ |
| Nor fear, O simple folk, to take | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| The bounty of a child of care. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| On nights like this the huddled sheep -- | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| I never saw a night so fair. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| How huge the sky is, and how deep! | 8 | ········ |
| And how the planets flash and glare! | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| At dawn beside my drowsy flock | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| What winged music I have heard! | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| But now the clouds with singing rock | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| As if the sky were turning bird. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| O blinding Light, O blinding Light! | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Burn through my heart with sweetest pain. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| O flaming Song, most loudly bright, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Consume away my deadly stain! | 8 | ˘/˘/·/˘· |
| The stable glows against the sky, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And who are these that throng the way? | 8 | ········ |
| My three old comrades hasten by | 8 | ···/·/˘· |
| And shining angels kneel and pray. | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| The door swings wide -- I cannot go -- | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| I must and yet I dare not see. | 8 | ········ |
| Lord, who am I that I should know -- | 8 | ········ |
| O Whiteness, whiter than the fleece | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Of new-washed sheep on April sod! | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| O Breath of Life, O Prince of Peace, | 8 | ········ |
| O Lamb of God, O Lamb of God! | 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.