To the God of Pain
Unwilling priestess in thy cruel fane,Long hast thou held me, pitiless god of Pain,Bound to thy worship by reluctant vows,My tired breast girt with suffering, and my browsAnointed with perpetual weariness.Long have I borne thy service, through the stressOf rigorous years, sad days and slumberless nights,Performing thine inexorable rites.
For thy dark altars, balm nor milk nor rice,But mine own soul thou'st ta'en for sacrifice:All the rich honey of my youth's desire,And all the sweet oils from my crushed life drawn,And all my flower-like dreams and gem-like fireOf hopes up-leaping like the light of dawn.
I have no more to give, all that was mineIs laid, a wrested tribute, at thy shrine;Let me depart, for my whole soul is wrung,And all my cheerless orisons are sung;Let me depart, with faint limbs let me creepTo some dim shade and sink me down to sleep.
Words in this poem
- priestess n.
- A woman who officiated in sacred rites among pagans. Abp.
- fane n.
- A temple; a place consecrated to religion; a church. [L. fanum a place dedicated to some deity, a sanctuary, fr. fari to speak. See Fame.]
- hast
- , 2d pers. sing. pres. of. Fave, contr. of havest.
- girt v. t.
- To gird; to encircle; to invest by means of a girdle; to measure the girth of; as, to girt a tree. [From Girt, n., cf. Girth, v.]
- slumberless a.
- Without slumber; sleepless.
- depart v. i.
- To part; to divide; to separate. [OE. departen to divide, part, depart, F. départir to divide, distribute, se départir to separate one's self, depart; pref. dé- (L. de) + partir to part, depart,]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
To the God of Pain is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Golden Threshold, with an introduction by Arthur Symons (Hyderabad, 1905; London, John Lane, 1905), Project Gutenberg ebook #680; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Sarojini Naidu, To the God of Pain, in The Golden Threshold (1905), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #680, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/naidu-golden-threshold/to-the-god-of-pain.html, id L27499.
Form and metre
To the God of Pain is 20 lines in 3 verse paragraphs. It is in rhyming couplets, 80% of the lines: heroic couplets. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 83%).
See other poems in heroic couplets, 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 AABBCCDD faneA · painA · vowsB · browsB · wearinessC · stressC · nightsD · ritesD
- 2 AABCBC riceA · sacrificeA · desireB · drawnC · fireB · dawnC
- 3 AABBCC mineA · shrineA · wrungB · sungB · creepC · sleepC
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Unwilling priestess in thy cruel fane, | 10 | ˘/˘/˘··/˘· |
| Long hast thou held me, pitiless god of Pain, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Bound to thy worship by reluctant vows, | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘· |
| My tired breast girt with suffering, and my brows | 10 | ·/···/˘··· |
| Anointed with perpetual weariness. | 11 | ˘/˘·˘/˘˘/˘˘ |
| Long have I borne thy service, through the stress | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Of rigorous years, sad days and slumberless nights, | 11 | ·/˘····/˘˘· |
| Performing thine inexorable rites. | 10 | ˘/˘··/˘˘˘· |
| For thy dark altars, balm nor milk nor rice, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| But mine own soul thou'st ta'en for sacrifice: | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| All the rich honey of my youth's desire, | 11 | ···/˘···˘/˘ |
| And all the sweet oils from my crushed life drawn, | 10 | ·········· |
| And all my flower-like dreams and gem-like fire | 11 | ···/·····/˘ |
| Of hopes up-leaping like the light of dawn. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| I have no more to give, all that was mine | 10 | ·········· |
| Is laid, a wrested tribute, at thy shrine; | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Let me depart, for my whole soul is wrung, | 10 | ··˘/······ |
| And all my cheerless orisons are sung; | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Let me depart, with faint limbs let me creep | 10 | ··˘/······ |
| To some dim shade and sink me down to sleep. | 10 | ·········· |
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.