On the Asylum Road
Theirs is the house whose windows--every pane--Are made of darkly stained or clouded glass:Sometimes you come upon them in the lane,The saddest crowd that you will ever pass.
But still we merry town or village folkThrow to their scattered stare a kindly grin,And think no shame to stop and crack a jokeWith the incarnate wages of man’s sin.
None but ourselves in our long gallery we meet,The moor-hen stepping from her reeds with dainty feet,The hare-bell bowing on his stem,Dance not with us; their pulses beatTo fainter music; nor do we to themMake their life sweet.
The gayest crowd that they will ever passAre we to brother-shadows in the lane:Our windows, too, are clouded glassTo them, yes, every pane!
Words in this poem
- pane n.
- The narrow edge of a hammer head. See Peen. [F. panne.]
- folk 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.]
- grin n.
- A snare; a gin. [AS. grin.]
- incarnate a.
- Not in the flesh; spiritual. [Pref. in- not + carnate.]
- dainty n.
- Value; estimation; the gratification or pleasure taken in anything. [OE. deinie, dainte, deintie, deyntee, OF. deintié delicacy, orig., dignity, honor, fr. L. dignitas, fr. dignus worthy. See Deign, and cf. Dignity.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
On the Asylum Road is in the public domain. This text is taken from The farmer's bride, Project Gutenberg ebook #71305; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Charlotte Mew, On the Asylum Road, in The Farmer's Bride (1916), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #71305, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/mew-farmers-bride/on-the-asylum-road.html, id L02466.
Form and metre
On the Asylum Road is 18 lines in 4 stanzas. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, complete in 3 of its 4 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 87%). 97% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 9.2 syllables. 33% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
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 paneA · glassB · laneA · passB
- 2 ABAB folkA · grinB · jokeA · sinB
- 3 AABABA meetA · feetA · stemB · beatA · themB · sweetA
- 4 ABAB passA · laneB · glassA · paneB
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Theirs is the house whose windows--every pane-- | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Are made of darkly stained or clouded glass: | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Sometimes you come upon them in the lane, | 10 | ˘/········ |
| The saddest crowd that you will ever pass. | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| But still we merry town or village folk | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Throw to their scattered stare a kindly grin, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| And think no shame to stop and crack a joke | 10 | ·········· |
| With the incarnate wages of man’s sin. | 10 | ··˘/˘/˘··· |
| None but ourselves in our long gallery we meet, | 11 | ··˘/·/·/˘·· |
| The moor-hen stepping from her reeds with dainty feet, | 12 | ···/˘····/˘· |
| The hare-bell bowing on his stem, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Dance not with us; their pulses beat | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| To fainter music; nor do we to them | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| Make their life sweet. | 4 | ···· |
| The gayest crowd that they will ever pass | 9 | ······/˘· |
| Are we to brother-shadows in the lane: | 10 | ···/˘/···· |
| Our windows, too, are clouded glass | 9 | /˘/˘··/˘· |
| To them, yes, every pane! | 7 | ···/˘˘· |
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.