Alma Mater
A haunted town thou art to me.
To-day in Florence all the airIs soft with spring, with sunlight fair;In the tall street gay folks are met;Duomo and Tower gleam overhead,Like jewels in the city set,Fair-hued and many-faceted.Against the old grey stones are piledFebruary violets, pale and sweet,Whose scent of earth in woodland wildIs wafted up and down the street.The city’s heart is glad; my ownSits lightly on its bosom’s throne.
Why is it that I see to-day,Imaged as clear as in a dream,A little city far away,A churlish sky, a sluggish stream,Tall clust’ring trees and gardens fair,Dark birds that circle in the air,Grey towers and fanes; on either hand,Stretches of wind-swept meadow-land?
Oh, who can sound the human breast?And this strange truth must be confessed;That city do I love the bestWherein my heart was heaviest!
Words in this poem
- haunted a.
- Inhabited by, or subject to the visits of, apparitions; frequented by a ghost.
- folks 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.]
- duomo n.
- A cathedral. See Dome, 2. [It. See Done.]
- piled a.
- Having a pile or point; pointed. [From 2d Pile.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Alma Mater is in the public domain. This text is taken from A London Plane-Tree, and Other Verse, Project Gutenberg ebook #56974; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Amy Levy, Alma Mater, in A London Plane-Tree, and Other Verse (1889), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #56974, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/levy-london-plane-tree/alma-mater.html, id L21551.
Form and metre
Alma Mater is 25 lines in 4 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 91%).
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.
- 2 AABCBCDEDEFF airA · fairA · metB · overheadC · setB · facetedC · piledD · sweetE · wildD · streetE · ownF · throneF
- 3 ABABCCDD dayA · dreamB · awayA · streamB · fairC · airC · handD · landD
- 4 AAAA breastA · confessedA · bestA · heaviestA
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 |
|---|---|---|
| A haunted town thou art to me. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| To-day in Florence all the air | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Is soft with spring, with sunlight fair; | 8 | ·····/·· |
| In the tall street gay folks are met; | 8 | ········ |
| Duomo and Tower gleam overhead, | 8 | /˘·/·/˘/ |
| Like jewels in the city set, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Fair-hued and many-faceted. | 8 | ···/˘/˘˘ |
| Against the old grey stones are piled | 8 | ········ |
| February violets, pale and sweet, | 9 | /˘·˘/˘··· |
| Whose scent of earth in woodland wild | 8 | ·····/·· |
| Is wafted up and down the street. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| The city’s heart is glad; my own | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Sits lightly on its bosom’s throne. | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Why is it that I see to-day, | 8 | ········ |
| Imaged as clear as in a dream, | 8 | /˘······ |
| A little city far away, | 8 | ·/˘/˘·˘/ |
| A churlish sky, a sluggish stream, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Tall clust’ring trees and gardens fair, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Dark birds that circle in the air, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Grey towers and fanes; on either hand, | 8 | ·/···/˘· |
| Stretches of wind-swept meadow-land? | 8 | /˘···/·· |
| Oh, who can sound the human breast? | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And this strange truth must be confessed; | 8 | ······˘/ |
| That city do I love the best | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Wherein my heart was heaviest! | 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.