The Lizard
I sit among the hoary treesWith Aristotle on my knees,And turn with serious hand the pages,Lost in the cobweb-hush of ages;When suddenly with no more soundThan any sunbeam on the ground,The little hermit of the placeIs peering up into my face—The slim gray hermit of the rocks,With bright inquisitive, quick eyes,His life a round of harks and shocks,A little ripple of surprise.
Now lifted up, intense and still,Sprung from the silence of the hillHe hangs upon the ledge a-glisten,And his whole body seems to listen!My pages give a little start,And he is gone! to be a partOf the old cedar’s crumpled bark,A mottled scar, a weather-mark!
How halt am I, how mean of birth,Beside this darting pulse of earth!I only have the wit to lookInto a big presumptuous book,To find some sage’s rigid planTo tell me how to be a man.Tradition lays its dead hand coldUpon our youth—and we are old.But this wise hermit, this gray friar,He has no law but heart’s desire.He somehow touches higher truth,The circle of eternal youth.
Words in this poem
- hoary a.
- White or whitish."The hoary willows."
- sunbeam n.
- A beam or ray of the sun. [AS. sunnebeam.]
- somehow adv.
- In one way or another; in some way not yet known or designated; by some means; as, the thing must be done somehow; he lives somehow.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Lizard is in the public domain. This text is taken from Lincoln & other poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #54527; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Edwin Markham, The Lizard, in Lincoln and Other Poems (1901), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #54527, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/markham-lincoln/the-lizard.html, id L10813.
Form and metre
The Lizard is 32 lines in 3 verse paragraphs. It is in rhyming couplets, 88% of the lines: octosyllabic couplets. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%). 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.3 syllables. 6 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 25% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in octosyllabic couplets, 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 AABBCCDDEFEF treesA · kneesA · pagesB · agesB · soundC · groundC · placeD · faceD · rocksE · eyesF · shocksE · surpriseF
- 2 AABBCCDD stillA · hillA · glistenB · listenB · startC · partC · barkD · markD
- 3 AABBCCDDEEFF birthA · earthA · lookB · bookB · planC · manC · coldD · oldD · friarE · desireE · truthF · youthF
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 |
|---|---|---|
| I sit among the hoary trees | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| With Aristotle on my knees, | 8 | ·/˘·˘··· |
| And turn with serious hand the pages, | 10 | ···/˘˘··/˘ |
| Lost in the cobweb-hush of ages; | 9 | ···/···/˘ |
| When suddenly with no more sound | 8 | ·/˘˘···· |
| Than any sunbeam on the ground, | 8 | ·/˘/···· |
| The little hermit of the place | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Is peering up into my face— | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| The slim gray hermit of the rocks, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| With bright inquisitive, quick eyes, | 8 | ··˘/˘˘·· |
| His life a round of harks and shocks, | 8 | ········ |
| A little ripple of surprise. | 8 | ·/˘/˘·˘/ |
| Now lifted up, intense and still, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| Sprung from the silence of the hill | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| He hangs upon the ledge a-glisten, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| And his whole body seems to listen! | 9 | ···/˘··/˘ |
| My pages give a little start, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| And he is gone! to be a part | 8 | ········ |
| Of the old cedar’s crumpled bark, | 9 | ···/˘/˘˘· |
| A mottled scar, a weather-mark! | 9 | ·/˘˘··/˘· |
| How halt am I, how mean of birth, | 8 | ········ |
| Beside this darting pulse of earth! | 8 | ˘/·/˘··· |
| I only have the wit to look | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Into a big presumptuous book, | 9 | ····˘/˘˘· |
| To find some sage’s rigid plan | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| To tell me how to be a man. | 8 | ········ |
| Tradition lays its dead hand cold | 8 | ˘/˘····· |
| Upon our youth—and we are old. | 9 | ··/˘····· |
| But this wise hermit, this gray friar, | 9 | ···/˘··/˘ |
| He has no law but heart’s desire. | 9 | ······˘/˘ |
| He somehow touches higher truth, | 8 | ·/·/˘/˘· |
| The circle of eternal youth. | 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.