Orpheus and Eurydice IV
And over the cold white body of love and delightOrpheus arose in the terrible storm of his grief,With quivering up-clutched hands, deadly and white,And his whole soul wavered and shook like a wind-swept leaf:
As a leaf that beats on a mountain, his spirit in vainAssaulted his doom and beat on the Gates of Death:Then prone with his arms o'er the lyre he sobbed out his pain,And the tense chords faintly gave voice to the pulse of his breath.
And he heard it and rose, once again, with the lyre in his hand,And smote out the cry that his white-lipped sorrow denied:And the grief's mad ecstasy swept o'er the summer-sweet land,And gathered the tears of all Time in the rush of its tide.
There was never a love forsaken or faith forsworn,There was never a cry for the living or moan for the slain,But was voiced in that great consummation of song; ay, and borneTo storm on the Gates of the land whence none cometh again.
Transcending the barriers of earth, comprehending them allHe followed the soul of his loss with the night in his eyes;And the portals lay bare to him there; and he heard the faint callOf his love o'er the rabble that wails by the river of sighs.
Yea, there in the mountains before him, he knew it of old,That portal enormous of gloom, he had seen it in dreams,When the secrets of Time and of Fate through his harmonies rolled;And behind it he heard the dead moan by their desolate streams.
And he passed through the Gates with the light and the cloud of hissong,Dry-shod over Lethe he passed to the chasms of hell;And the hosts of the dead made mock at him, crying, How longHave we dwelt in the darkness, oh fool, and shall evermore dwell?
Did our lovers not love us? the grey skulls hissed in his face;Were our lips not red? Were these cavernous eyes not bright?Yet us, whom the soft flesh clothed with such roseate grace,Our lovers would loathe if we ever returned to their sight!
Oh then, through the soul of the Singer, a pity so vastMixed with his anguish that, smiting anew on his lyre,He caught up the sorrows of hell in his utterance at last,Comprehending the need of them all in his own great desire.
Words in this poem
- orpheus n.
- The famous mythic Thracian poet, son of the Muse Calliope, and husband of Eurydice. He is reputed to have had power to entrance beasts and inanimate objects by the music of his lyre.
- shook v. t.
- To pack, as staves, in a shook.
- voiced a.
- Furnished with a voice; expressed by the voice.
- consummation n.
- The act of consummating, or the state of being consummated; completed; completion; perfection; termination; end (as of the world or of life). [L. consummatio.]
- lethe n.
- A river of Hades whose waters when drunk caused forgetfulness of the past.
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- evermore adv.
- During eternity; always; forever; for an indefinite period; at all times; -- often used substantively with for.
- dwell v. i.
- To delay; to linger. [OE. dwellen, dwelien, to err, linger, AS. dwellan to deceive, hinder, delay, dwelian to err; akin to Icel. dvelja to delay, tarry, Sw. dväljas to dwell, Dan. dv]
- cavernous a.
- Full of caverns; resembling a cavern or large cavity; hollow. [L. cavernosus: cf. F. caverneux.]
- roseate a.
- Full of roses; rosy; as, roseate bowers. [Cf. L. roseus, rosatus, prepared from roses. See Roseal, Rose.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Orpheus and Eurydice IV is in the public domain. This text is taken from Collected Poems: Volume One, Project Gutenberg ebook #30501; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Alfred Noyes, Orpheus and Eurydice IV, in Collected Poems, Volume One (1913), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #30501, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/noyes-collected/orpheus-and-eurydice-iv.html, id L21479.
Form and metre
Orpheus and Eurydice IV is 37 lines in 9 stanzas. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, complete in 7 of its 9 stanzas. The metre is anapaestic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 86%).
See other poems in anapaestic 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 delightA · griefB · whiteA · leafB
- 2 ABAB vainA · deathB · painA · breathB
- 3 ABAB handA · deniedB · landA · tideB
- 4 ABAB forswornA · slainB · borneA · againB
- 5 ABAB allA · eyesB · callA · sighsB
- 6 ABAB oldA · dreamsB · rolledA · streamsB
- 7 -ABAB his · songA · hellB · longA · dwellB
- 8 ABAB faceA · brightB · graceA · sightB
- 9 A-A- vastA · lyre · lastA · desire
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 anapaestic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| And over the cold white body of love and delight | 12 | ·····/˘···˘/ |
| Orpheus arose in the terrible storm of his grief, | 12 | /˘˘/··/˘···· |
| With quivering up-clutched hands, deadly and white, | 10 | ·/˘···/˘·· |
| And his whole soul wavered and shook like a wind-swept leaf: | 13 | ····/˘······· |
| As a leaf that beats on a mountain, his spirit in vain | 13 | ·······/˘·/·· |
| Assaulted his doom and beat on the Gates of Death: | 12 | ˘/˘········· |
| Then prone with his arms o'er the lyre he sobbed out his pain, | 13 | ············· |
| And the tense chords faintly gave voice to the pulse of his breath. | 14 | ····/˘········ |
| And he heard it and rose, once again, with the lyre in his hand, | 15 | ·······˘/······ |
| And smote out the cry that his white-lipped sorrow denied: | 13 | ·········/˘˘/ |
| And the grief's mad ecstasy swept o'er the summer-sweet land, | 13 | ····/˘···/˘·· |
| And gathered the tears of all Time in the rush of its tide. | 14 | ·/˘··········· |
| There was never a love forsaken or faith forsworn, | 12 | ··/··˘/˘···/ |
| There was never a cry for the living or moan for the slain, | 14 | ··/····/˘····· |
| But was voiced in that great consummation of song; ay, and borne | 15 | ·······˘/˘····· |
| To storm on the Gates of the land whence none cometh again. | 14 | ··········/˘˘/ |
| Transcending the barriers of earth, comprehending them all | 14 | ˘/˘·/˘···˘/˘·· |
| He followed the soul of his loss with the night in his eyes; | 14 | ·/˘··········· |
| And the portals lay bare to him there; and he heard the faint call | 15 | ··/˘··········· |
| Of his love o'er the rabble that wails by the river of sighs. | 15 | ·····/˘····/˘·· |
| Yea, there in the mountains before him, he knew it of old, | 14 | ····/˘········ |
| That portal enormous of gloom, he had seen it in dreams, | 14 | ·/˘˘/˘········ |
| When the secrets of Time and of Fate through his harmonies rolled; | 14 | ··/˘·······/˘· |
| And behind it he heard the dead moan by their desolate streams. | 14 | ···········/˘· |
| And he passed through the Gates with the light and the cloud of his | 14 | ·············· |
| song, | 1 | · |
| Dry-shod over Lethe he passed to the chasms of hell; | 13 | ···/˘····/˘·· |
| And the hosts of the dead made mock at him, crying, How long | 14 | ··········/˘·· |
| Have we dwelt in the darkness, oh fool, and shall evermore dwell? | 15 | ·····/˘····/˘·· |
| Did our lovers not love us? the grey skulls hissed in his face; | 14 | ·//˘·········· |
| Were our lips not red? Were these cavernous eyes not bright? | 12 | ·/·····/˘··· |
| Yet us, whom the soft flesh clothed with such roseate grace, | 12 | ·········/˘· |
| Our lovers would loathe if we ever returned to their sight! | 13 | //˘····/˘/··· |
| Oh then, through the soul of the Singer, a pity so vast | 14 | ·······/˘·/˘·· |
| Mixed with his anguish that, smiting anew on his lyre, | 13 | ···/˘·/˘˘/··· |
| He caught up the sorrows of hell in his utterance at last, | 14 | ····/˘····/˘·· |
| Comprehending the need of them all in his own great desire. | 15 | ·˘/˘·········˘/ |
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