Wail of the Wandering Dead
Death, too, is a chimera and betrays,And yet they promised we should enter rest;Death is as empty as the cup of days,And bitter milk is in her wintry breast.
There is no worth in any world to come,Nor any in the world we left behind;And what remains of all our masterdom?--Only a cry out of the crumbling mind.
We played all comers at the old Gray Inn,But played the King of Players to our cost.We played Him fair and had no chance to win:The dice of God were loaded and we lost.
We wander, wander, and the nights come downWith starless darkness and the rush of rains;We drift as phantoms by the songless town,We drift as litter on the windy lanes.
Hope is the fading vision of the heart,A mocking spirit throwing up wild hands.She led us on with music at the start,To leave us at dead fountains in the sands.
Now all our days are but a cry for sleep,For we are weary of the petty strife.Is there not somewhere in the endless deepA place where we can lose the feel of life?
Where we can be as senseless as the dustThe night wind blows about a dried-up well?Where there is no more labor, no more lust,Nor any flesh to feel the Tooth of Hell?
Our feet are ever sliding, and we seemAs old and weary as the pyramids.Come, God of Ages, and dispel the dream,Fold the worn hands and close the sinking lids.
There is no new road for the dead to take:Wild hearts are we among the worlds astray--Wild hearts are we that cannot wholly break,But linger on though life has gone away.
We are the sons of Misery and Eld:Come, tender Death, with all your hushing wings,And let our broken spirits be dispelled--Let dead men sink into the dusk of things.
Words in this poem
- chimera n.
- A monster represented as vomiting flames, and as having the head of a lion, the body of a goat, and the tail of a dragon. [L. chimaera a chimera (in sense 1), Gr. qymbr a yearling ewe.]
- wintry a.
- Suitable to winter; resembling winter, or what belongs to winter; brumal; hyemal; cold; stormy; wintery. [AS. wintrig.]
- masterdom n.
- Dominion; rule; command. [Master + -dom.]
- starless a.
- Being without stars; having no stars visible; as, a starless night.
- songless a.
- Destitute of the power of song; without song; as, songless birds; songless woods.
- fading n.
- An Irish dance; also, the burden of a song.
- strife n.
- The act of striving; earnest endeavor. [OF. estrif. See Strive.]
- somewhere adv.
- In some place unknown or not specified; in one place or another.
- lust v. i.
- To list; to like. [AS. lystan. See Lust, n., and cf. List to choose.]
- dispel v. t.
- To drive away by scattering, or so to cause to vanish; to clear away; to banish; to dissipate; as, to dispel a cloud, vapors, cares, doubts, illusions. [L. dispellere; dis- + pellere to push, drive. See Pulse a beating.]
- hushing n.
- The process of washing ore, or of uncovering mineral veins, by a heavy discharge of water from a reservoir; flushing; -- also called booming.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Wail of the Wandering Dead 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, Wail of the Wandering Dead, 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/wail-of-the-wandering-dead.html, id L24741.
Form and metre
Wail of the Wandering Dead is 40 lines in 10 stanzas of 4 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, complete in 9 of its 10 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 89%).
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 ABAB betraysA · restB · daysA · breastB
- 2 -A-A come · behindA · masterdom · mindA
- 3 ABAB innA · costB · winA · lostB
- 4 ABAB downA · rainsB · townA · lanesB
- 5 ABAB heartA · handsB · startA · sandsB
- 6 ABAB sleepA · strifeB · deepA · lifeB
- 7 ABAB dustA · wellB · lustA · hellB
- 8 ABAB seemA · pyramidsB · dreamA · lidsB
- 9 ABAB takeA · astrayB · breakA · awayB
- 10 ABAB eldA · wingsB · dispelledA · thingsB
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Death, too, is a chimera and betrays, | 10 | ····˘/˘·˘/ |
| And yet they promised we should enter rest; | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Death is as empty as the cup of days, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And bitter milk is in her wintry breast. | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| There is no worth in any world to come, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Nor any in the world we left behind; | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| And what remains of all our masterdom?-- | 11 | ··˘/··/˘/˘˘ |
| Only a cry out of the crumbling mind. | 10 | /˘·····/˘· |
| We played all comers at the old Gray Inn, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| But played the King of Players to our cost. | 10 | ·····/˘·/· |
| We played Him fair and had no chance to win: | 10 | ·········· |
| The dice of God were loaded and we lost. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| We wander, wander, and the nights come down | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| With starless darkness and the rush of rains; | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| We drift as phantoms by the songless town, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| We drift as litter on the windy lanes. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Hope is the fading vision of the heart, | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| A mocking spirit throwing up wild hands. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| She led us on with music at the start, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| To leave us at dead fountains in the sands. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Now all our days are but a cry for sleep, | 10 | ··/······· |
| For we are weary of the petty strife. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Is there not somewhere in the endless deep | 10 | ···/···/˘· |
| A place where we can lose the feel of life? | 10 | ·········· |
| Where we can be as senseless as the dust | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| The night wind blows about a dried-up well? | 10 | ·········· |
| Where there is no more labor, no more lust, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Nor any flesh to feel the Tooth of Hell? | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Our feet are ever sliding, and we seem | 10 | /··/˘/˘··· |
| As old and weary as the pyramids. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘˘ |
| Come, God of Ages, and dispel the dream, | 10 | ···/˘·˘/·· |
| Fold the worn hands and close the sinking lids. | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| There is no new road for the dead to take: | 10 | ·········· |
| Wild hearts are we among the worlds astray-- | 10 | ········˘/ |
| Wild hearts are we that cannot wholly break, | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| But linger on though life has gone away. | 10 | ·/˘·····˘/ |
| We are the sons of Misery and Eld: | 10 | ·····/˘˘·· |
| Come, tender Death, with all your hushing wings, | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| And let our broken spirits be dispelled-- | 10 | ··//˘/˘·˘/ |
| Let dead men sink into the dusk of things. | 10 | ·········· |
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