The Poets of the Tomb
The world has had enough of bards who wish that they were dead,'Tis time the people passed a law to knock 'em on the head,For 'twould be lovely if their friends could grant the rest they crave --Those bards of 'tears' and 'vanished hopes', those poets of the grave.They say that life's an awful thing, and full of care and gloom,They talk of peace and restfulness connected with the tomb.
They say that man is made of dirt, and die, of course, he must;But, all the same, a man is made of pretty solid dust.There is a thing that they forget, so let it here be writ,That some are made of common mud, and some are made of GRIT;Some try to help the world along while others fret and fumeAnd wish that they were slumbering in the silence of the tomb.
'Twixt mother's arms and coffin-gear a man has work to do!And if he does his very best he mostly worries through,And while there is a wrong to right, and while the world goes round,An honest man alive is worth a million underground.And yet, as long as sheoaks sigh and wattle-blossoms bloom,The world shall hear the drivel of the poets of the tomb.
And though the graveyard poets long to vanish from the scene,I notice that they mostly wish their resting-place kept green.Now, were I rotting underground, I do not think I'd careIf wombats rooted on the mound or if the cows camped there;And should I have some feelings left when I have gone before,I think a ton of solid stone would hurt my feelings more.
Such wormy songs of mouldy joys can give me no delight;I'll take my chances with the world, I'd rather live and fight.Though Fortune laughs along my track, or wears her blackest frown,I'll try to do the world some good before I tumble down.Let's fight for things that ought to be, and try to make 'em boom;We cannot help mankind when we are ashes in the tomb.
Words in this poem
- crave v. t.
- To ask with earnestness or importunity; to ask with submission or humility; to beg; to entreat; to beseech; to implore. [AS. crafian; akin to Icel. krefia, Sw. kr, Dan. kr.]
- fume n.
- Exhalation; volatile matter (esp. noxious vapor or smoke) ascending in a dense body; smoke; vapor; reek; as, the fumes of tobacco. [L. fumus; akin to Skr. dh smoke, dh to shake, fan a flame, cf. Gr. fum smoke, F. fumée. Cf. Dust, n., Femerell, Thyme.]
- 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,]
- graveyard n.
- A yard or inclosure for the interment of the dead; a cemetery.
- wormy a.
- Containing a worm; abounding with worms.
- mouldy a.
- Overgrown with, or containing, mold; as, moldy cheese or bread. [From Mold the growth of fungi.]
- ought p. p.
- Was or were under obligation to pay; owed. [Orig. the preterit of the verb to owe. OE. oughte, aughte, ahte, AS. ahte. sq. root110. See Owe.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Poets of the Tomb is in the public domain. This text is taken from In the Days When the World Was Wide, and Other Verses, Project Gutenberg ebook #214; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Henry Lawson, The Poets of the Tomb, in In the Days When the World Was Wide (1896), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #214, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/lawson-world-was-wide/the-poets-of-the-tomb.html, id L23246.
Form and metre
The Poets of the Tomb is 30 lines in 5 stanzas of 6 lines each. Every stanza rhymes AABBCC. The metre is iambic heptameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 93%).
See other poems in iambic heptameter.
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 AABBCC deadA · headA · craveB · graveB · gloomC · tombC
- 2 AABBCC mustA · dustA · writB · gritB · fumeC · tombC
- 3 AABBCC doA · throughA · roundB · undergroundB · bloomC · tombC
- 4 AABBCC sceneA · greenA · careB · thereB · beforeC · moreC
- 5 AABBCC delightA · fightA · frownB · downB · boomC · tombC
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 heptameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| The world has had enough of bards who wish that they were dead, | 14 | ····˘/········ |
| 'Tis time the people passed a law to knock 'em on the head, | 14 | ···/˘········· |
| For 'twould be lovely if their friends could grant the rest they crave -- | 14 | ···/˘········· |
| Those bards of 'tears' and 'vanished hopes', those poets of the grave. | 14 | ·····/˘··/˘··· |
| They say that life's an awful thing, and full of care and gloom, | 14 | ·····/˘······· |
| They talk of peace and restfulness connected with the tomb. | 14 | ········˘/˘··· |
| They say that man is made of dirt, and die, of course, he must; | 14 | ·············· |
| But, all the same, a man is made of pretty solid dust. | 14 | ·········/˘/˘· |
| There is a thing that they forget, so let it here be writ, | 14 | ······˘/······ |
| That some are made of common mud, and some are made of GRIT; | 14 | ·····/˘······· |
| Some try to help the world along while others fret and fume | 14 | ······˘/·/˘··· |
| And wish that they were slumbering in the silence of the tomb. | 14 | ·····/˘··/˘··· |
| 'Twixt mother's arms and coffin-gear a man has work to do! | 14 | ·/˘··/˘······· |
| And if he does his very best he mostly worries through, | 14 | ·····/˘··/˘/˘· |
| And while there is a wrong to right, and while the world goes round, | 14 | ·············· |
| An honest man alive is worth a million underground. | 14 | ·/˘·˘/···/˘/˘· |
| And yet, as long as sheoaks sigh and wattle-blossoms bloom, | 13 | ········/˘/˘· |
| The world shall hear the drivel of the poets of the tomb. | 14 | ·····/˘··/˘··· |
| And though the graveyard poets long to vanish from the scene, | 14 | ···/·/˘··/˘··· |
| I notice that they mostly wish their resting-place kept green. | 14 | ·/˘··/˘··/˘··· |
| Now, were I rotting underground, I do not think I'd care | 14 | ···/˘/˘······· |
| If wombats rooted on the mound or if the cows camped there; | 14 | ·/·/˘········· |
| And should I have some feelings left when I have gone before, | 14 | ·····/˘······· |
| I think a ton of solid stone would hurt my feelings more. | 14 | ·····/˘····/˘· |
| Such wormy songs of mouldy joys can give me no delight; | 14 | ·/˘··/˘·····˘/ |
| I'll take my chances with the world, I'd rather live and fight. | 14 | ···/˘····/˘··· |
| Though Fortune laughs along my track, or wears her blackest frown, | 14 | ·/˘·˘/·····/˘· |
| I'll try to do the world some good before I tumble down. | 14 | ···········/˘· |
| Let's fight for things that ought to be, and try to make 'em boom; | 14 | ·············· |
| We cannot help mankind when we are ashes in the tomb. | 14 | ·/˘·//···/˘··· |
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