Villanelle: the Psychological Hour
I had over-prepared the event,that much was ominous.With middle-ageing careI had laid out just the right books.I had almost turned down the pages.
Beauty is so rare a thing.So few drink of my fountain.
So much barren regret,So many hours wasted!And now I watch, from the window,the rain, the wandering busses.
“Their little cosmos is shaken”--the air is alive with that fact.In their parts of the citythey are played on by diverse forces.How do I know?Oh, I know well enough.For them there is something afoot.
As for me:I had over-prepared the event--
Beauty is so rare a thing.So few drink of my fountain.
Two friends: a breath of the forest ...Friends? Are people less friendsbecause one has lust, at least, found them?Twice they promised to come.“Between the night and morning?”
Beauty would drink of my mind.Youth would awhile forgetmy youth is gone from me.
Words in this poem
- cosmos n.
- The universe or universality of created things; -- so called from the order and harmony displayed in it. [NL., fr. Gr. ko`smos order, harmony, the world (from its perfect order and arrangement); akin to Skr. to distinguish one's self.]
- lust v. i.
- To list; to like. [AS. lystan. See Lust, n., and cf. List to choose.]
- awhile adv.
- For a while; for some time; for a short time. [Adj. a + while time, interval.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Villanelle: the Psychological Hour is in the public domain. This text is taken from Lustra of Ezra Pound, Project Gutenberg ebook #55564; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Ezra Pound, Villanelle: the Psychological Hour, in Lustra (1916), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #55564, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/pound-lustra/villanelle-the-psychological-hour.html, id L01326.
Form and metre
Villanelle: the Psychological Hour is 30 lines in 8 verse paragraphs. It is unrhymed, as far as the pronouncing dictionary can tell. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 79%). 87% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.1 syllables. 12 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 13% 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.
- 7 --AA- forest · friends · themA · comeA · morning
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 |
|---|---|---|
| I had over-prepared the event, | 9 | ····˘/·˘/ |
| that much was ominous. | 6 | ···/˘˘ |
| With middle-ageing care | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| I had laid out just the right books. | 8 | ········ |
| I had almost turned down the pages. | 9 | ··/····/˘ |
| Beauty is so rare a thing. | 7 | /˘····· |
| So few drink of my fountain. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| So much barren regret, | 6 | ··/˘˘/ |
| So many hours wasted! | 7 | ·/˘/˘/˘ |
| And now I watch, from the window, | 8 | ······/˘ |
| the rain, the wandering busses. | 8 | ···/˘˘/˘ |
| “Their little cosmos is shaken”-- | 8 | ·/˘/˘·/˘ |
| the air is alive with that fact. | 8 | ···˘/··· |
| In their parts of the city | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| they are played on by diverse forces. | 9 | ·····˘//˘ |
| How do I know? | 4 | ···· |
| Oh, I know well enough. | 6 | ····˘/ |
| For them there is something afoot. | 8 | ····/˘˘/ |
| As for me: | 3 | ··· |
| I had over-prepared the event-- | 9 | ····˘/·˘/ |
| Beauty is so rare a thing. | 7 | /˘····· |
| So few drink of my fountain. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Two friends: a breath of the forest ... | 8 | ······/˘ |
| Friends? Are people less friends | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| because one has lust, at least, found them? | 9 | ········· |
| Twice they promised to come. | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| “Between the night and morning?” | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Beauty would drink of my mind. | 7 | /˘····· |
| Youth would awhile forget | 6 | ··˘/˘/ |
| my youth is gone from me. | 6 | ······ |
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.