Joy of the Morning
I hear you, little bird,Shouting aswing above the broken wall.Shout louder yet: no song can tell it all.Sing to my soul in the deep still wood:’Tis wonderful beyond the wildest word:I’d tell it, too, if I could.
Oft when the white, still dawnLifted the skies and pushed the hills apart,I’ve felt it like a glory in my heart--(The world’s mysterious stir)But had no throat like yours, my bird,Nor such a listener.
Words in this poem
- aswing adv.
- In a state of swinging.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Joy of the Morning is in the public domain. This text is taken from The man with the hoe, and other poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #67012; 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, Joy of the Morning, in The Man with the Hoe, and Other Poems (1899), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #67012, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/markham-man-with-hoe/joy-of-the-morning.html, id L24772.
Form and metre
Joy of the Morning is 12 lines in 2 stanzas of 6 lines each. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 85%).
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
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 ABBCAC birdA · wallB · allB · woodC · wordA · couldC
- 2 -AA--- dawn · apartA · heartA · stir · bird · listener
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 pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| I hear you, little bird, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Shouting aswing above the broken wall. | 10 | /˘˘/···/˘· |
| Shout louder yet: no song can tell it all. | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Sing to my soul in the deep still wood: | 9 | ········· |
| ’Tis wonderful beyond the wildest word: | 10 | ·/˘˘···/˘· |
| I’d tell it, too, if I could. | 7 | ······· |
| Oft when the white, still dawn | 6 | ······ |
| Lifted the skies and pushed the hills apart, | 10 | /˘······˘/ |
| I’ve felt it like a glory in my heart-- | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| (The world’s mysterious stir) | 7 | ··˘/˘˘· |
| But had no throat like yours, my bird, | 8 | ········ |
| Nor such a listener. | 6 | ···/˘˘ |
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.