The Black Monkey
My Babbles has a nasty knackOf keeping monkeys on her back.A great big black one comes and swingsRight on her sash or pinny strings.It is a horrid thing and wildAnd makes her such a naughty child.
She comes and stands beside my chairWith almost an offended airAnd says:—“Oh, Father, why can’t I?”And stamps her foot and starts to cry—I look at Mother in dismay ...What little girl is this, to-day?
She throws about her nicest toysAnd makes a truly dreadful noiseTill Mother rises from her placeWith quite a Sunday churchy faceAnd Babbles silently is ledInto the dark and her own bed.
Never a kiss or one Goodnight,Never a glimpse of candle light.Oh, how the monkey simply flies!Oh, how poor Babbles calls and cries,Runs from the room with might and main,“Father dear, I am good again.”
When she is sitting on my kneeSnuggled quite close and kissing me,Babbles and I, we think the same—Why, that the monkey never cameOnly a terrible dream maybe ...What did she have for evening tea?
Words in this poem
- knack v. i.
- To crack; to make a sharp, abrupt noise to chink. [Obs. or Prov. [Prob. of imitative origin; cf. G. knacken to break, Dan. knage to crack, and E. knock.]
- horrid a.
- Rough; rugged; bristling. [L. horridus. See Horror, and cf. Ordure.]
- naughty a.
- Having little or nothing.
- dreadful a.
- Full of dread or terror; fearful.
- churchy a.
- Relating to a church; unduly fond of church forms.
- maybe adv.
- Perhaps; possibly; peradventure. [For it may be.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Black Monkey is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #59276; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Katherine Mansfield, The Black Monkey, in Poems (1923), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #59276, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/mansfield-poems/the-black-monkey.html, id L27632.
Form and metre
The Black Monkey is 30 lines in 5 stanzas of 6 lines each. The rhyme scheme is AABBCC, complete in 4 of its 5 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.
- 1 AABBCC knackA · backA · swingsB · stringsB · wildC · childC
- 2 AABBCC chairA · airA · iB · cryB · dismayC · dayC
- 3 AABBCC toysA · noiseA · placeB · faceB · ledC · bedC
- 4 AABBCC goodnightA · lightA · fliesB · criesB · mainC · againC
- 5 AABB-A kneeA · meA · sameB · cameB · maybe · teaA
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 |
|---|---|---|
| My Babbles has a nasty knack | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Of keeping monkeys on her back. | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| A great big black one comes and swings | 8 | ········ |
| Right on her sash or pinny strings. | 8 | ········ |
| It is a horrid thing and wild | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And makes her such a naughty child. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| She comes and stands beside my chair | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| With almost an offended air | 8 | ·/··˘/˘· |
| And says:—“Oh, Father, why can’t I?” | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And stamps her foot and starts to cry— | 8 | ········ |
| I look at Mother in dismay ... | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| What little girl is this, to-day? | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| She throws about her nicest toys | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And makes a truly dreadful noise | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Till Mother rises from her place | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| With quite a Sunday churchy face | 8 | ···/·/˘· |
| And Babbles silently is led | 8 | ·/˘/˘˘·· |
| Into the dark and her own bed. | 8 | ········ |
| Never a kiss or one Goodnight, | 8 | /˘····/· |
| Never a glimpse of candle light. | 8 | /˘···/˘· |
| Oh, how the monkey simply flies! | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Oh, how poor Babbles calls and cries, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Runs from the room with might and main, | 8 | ········ |
| “Father dear, I am good again.” | 8 | /˘····˘/ |
| When she is sitting on my knee | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Snuggled quite close and kissing me, | 8 | /˘···/˘· |
| Babbles and I, we think the same— | 8 | /˘······ |
| Why, that the monkey never came | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Only a terrible dream maybe ... | 9 | /˘·/˘˘·/˘ |
| What did she have for evening tea? | 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.