Fawnia
Ah! were she pitiful as she is fair,Or but as mild as she is seeming so,Then were my hopes greater than my despair,Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe.Ah! were her heart relenting as her hand,That seems to melt even with the mildest touch,Then knew I where to seat me in a landUnder wide heavens, but yet there is not such.So as she shows she seems the budding rose,Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower;Sovran of beauty, like the spray she grows;Compass’d she is with thorns and canker’d flower.Yet were she willing to be pluck’d and worn,She would be gather’d, though she grew on thorn.
Ah! when she sings, all music else be still,For none must be comparèd to her note;Ne’er breathed such glee from Philomela’s bill,Nor from the morning-singer’s swelling throat.Ah! when she riseth from her blissful bedShe comforts all the world as doth the sun,And at her sight the night’s foul vapour’s fled;When she is set the gladsome day is done.O glorious sun, imagine me the west,Shine in my arms, and set thou in my breast!
Words in this poem
- sovran a.
- A variant of Sovereign.
- glee n.
- Music; minstrelsy; entertainment.
- blissful a.
- Full of, characterized by, or causing, joy and felicity; happy in the highest degree.
- gladsome a.
- Pleased; joyful; cheerful.
- glorious a.
- Exhibiting attributes, qualities, or acts that are worthy of or receive glory; noble; praiseworthy; excellent; splendid; illustrious; inspiring admiration; as, glorious deeds. [OF. glorios, glorious, F. glorieux, fr. L. gloriosus. See Glory, n.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Fawnia 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: Robert Greene, Fawnia, in Poems (1560–1592), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #66619, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/obev-robert-greene/fawnia.html, id L15978.
Form and metre
Fawnia is 24 lines in 2 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 88%). 93% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 10.1 syllables. 2 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 8% 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 ABABCDCDEFEFGG fairA · soB · despairA · woeB · handC · touchD · landC · suchD · roseE · flowerF · growsE · flowerF · wornG · thornG
- 2 ABABCDCDEE stillA · noteB · billA · throatB · bedC · sunD · fledC · doneD · westE · breastE
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Ah! were she pitiful as she is fair, | 10 | ···/˘˘···· |
| Or but as mild as she is seeming so, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Then were my hopes greater than my despair, | 10 | ····/˘··˘/ |
| Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe. | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Ah! were her heart relenting as her hand, | 10 | ····˘/˘··· |
| That seems to melt even with the mildest touch, | 10 | ····/··/˘· |
| Then knew I where to seat me in a land | 10 | ·········· |
| Under wide heavens, but yet there is not such. | 11 | ···/˘······ |
| So as she shows she seems the budding rose, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower; | 11 | ·/˘····/˘/˘ |
| Sovran of beauty, like the spray she grows; | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| Compass’d she is with thorns and canker’d flower. | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| Yet were she willing to be pluck’d and worn, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| She would be gather’d, though she grew on thorn. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Ah! when she sings, all music else be still, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| For none must be comparèd to her note; | 9 | ········· |
| Ne’er breathed such glee from Philomela’s bill, | 10 | ······˘/˘· |
| Nor from the morning-singer’s swelling throat. | 10 | ···/˘/˘/˘· |
| Ah! when she riseth from her blissful bed | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| She comforts all the world as doth the sun, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| And at her sight the night’s foul vapour’s fled; | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| When she is set the gladsome day is done. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| O glorious sun, imagine me the west, | 10 | ·/˘·˘/˘··· |
| Shine in my arms, and set thou in my breast! | 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.