To Mary
If I had thought thou couldst have died,I might not weep for thee;But I forgot, when by thy side,That thou couldst mortal be:It never through my mind had pastThe time would e’er be o’er,And I on thee should look my last,And thou shouldst smile no more!
And still upon that face I look,And think ’twill smile again;And still the thought I will not brook,That I must look in vain.But when I speak--thou dost not sayWhat thou ne’er left’st unsaid;And now I feel, as well I may,Sweet Mary, thou art dead!
If thou wouldst stay, e’en as thou art,All cold and all serene--I still might press thy silent heart,And where thy smiles have been.While e’en thy chill, bleak corse I have,Thou seemest still mine own;But there--I lay thee in thy grave,And I am now alone!
I do not think, where’er thou art,Thou hast forgotten me;And I, perhaps, may soothe this heartIn thinking too of thee:Yet there was round thee such a dawnOf light ne’er seen before,As fancy never could have drawn,And never can restore!
Words in this poem
- twill v. i.
- To weave, as cloth, so as to produce the appearance of diagonal lines or ribs on the surface. [Scotch tweel; probably from LG. twillen to make double, from twi- two; akin to AS. twi-, E. twi- in twilight. See Twice, and cf. Tweed, Tweel.]
- corse n.
- A living body or its bulk. [OF. cors, F. corps. See Corpse.]
- hast
- , 2d pers. sing. pres. of. Fave, contr. of havest.
- soothe v. t.
- To assent to as true. Testament of Love. [Originally, to assent to as true; OE. so to verify, AS. ges to prove the truth of, to bear witness. See Sooth, a.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
To Mary is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Oxford Book of English Verse, 1250-1900, Project Gutenberg ebook #66619; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Charles Wolfe, To Mary, in Poems (1791–1823), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #66619, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/obev-charles-wolfe/to-mary.html, id L16192.
Form and metre
To Mary is 32 lines in 4 stanzas of 8 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABABCDCD, complete in 2 of its 4 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%). 99% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.0 syllables. 12% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
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 ABABC-C- diedA · theeB · sideA · beB · pastC · o'er · lastC · more
- 2 ABABCDCD lookA · againB · brookA · vainB · sayC · unsaidD · mayC · deadD
- 3 A-A-BCBC artA · serene · heartA · been · haveB · ownC · graveB · aloneC
- 4 ABABCDCD artA · meB · heartA · theeB · dawnC · beforeD · drawnC · restoreD
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 tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| If I had thought thou couldst have died, | 8 | ········ |
| I might not weep for thee; | 6 | ······ |
| But I forgot, when by thy side, | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| That thou couldst mortal be: | 6 | ···/˘· |
| It never through my mind had past | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| The time would e’er be o’er, | 6 | ······ |
| And I on thee should look my last, | 8 | ········ |
| And thou shouldst smile no more! | 6 | ······ |
| And still upon that face I look, | 8 | ········ |
| And think ’twill smile again; | 6 | ····˘/ |
| And still the thought I will not brook, | 8 | ········ |
| That I must look in vain. | 6 | ······ |
| But when I speak--thou dost not say | 8 | ········ |
| What thou ne’er left’st unsaid; | 6 | ····˘/ |
| And now I feel, as well I may, | 8 | ········ |
| Sweet Mary, thou art dead! | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| If thou wouldst stay, e’en as thou art, | 8 | ········ |
| All cold and all serene-- | 6 | ····˘/ |
| I still might press thy silent heart, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And where thy smiles have been. | 6 | ······ |
| While e’en thy chill, bleak corse I have, | 8 | ········ |
| Thou seemest still mine own; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| But there--I lay thee in thy grave, | 8 | ········ |
| And I am now alone! | 6 | ····˘/ |
| I do not think, where’er thou art, | 9 | ····˘˘/·· |
| Thou hast forgotten me; | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| In thinking too of thee: | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Yet there was round thee such a dawn | 8 | ········ |
| Of light ne’er seen before, | 6 | ······ |
| As fancy never could have drawn, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| And never can restore! | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
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