Walt Whitman
The master-songs are ended, and the manThat sang them is a name. And so is GodA name; and so is love, and life, and death,And everything. But we, who are too blindTo read what we have written, or what faithHas written for us, do not understand:We only blink, and wonder.
Last night it was the song that was the man,But now it is the man that is the song.We do not hear him very much to-day:His piercing and eternal cadence ringsToo pure for us -- too powerfully pure,Too lovingly triumphant, and too large;But there are some that hear him, and they knowThat he shall sing to-morrow for all men,And that all time shall listen.
The master-songs are ended? Rather sayNo songs are ended that are ever sung,And that no names are dead names. When we writeMen's letters on proud marble or on sand,We write them there forever.
Ye gods that have a home beyond the world,Ye that have eyes for all man's agony,Ye that have seen this woe that we have seen, --Look with a just regard,And with an even grace,Here on the shattered corpse of a shattered king,Here on a suffering world where men grow oldAnd wander like sad shadows till, at last,Out of the flare of life,Out of the whirl of years,Into the mist they go,Into the mist of death.
O shades of you that loved him long beforeThe cruel threads of that black sail were spun,May loyal arms and ancient welcomingsReceive him once againWho now no longer movesHere in this flickering dance of changing days,Where a battle is lost and won for a withered wreath,And the black master Death is over all,To chill with his approach,To level with his touch,The reigning strength of youth,The fluttered heart of age.
Woe for the fateful day when Delphi's word was lost --Woe for the loveless prince of Aethra's line!Woe for a father's tears and the curse of a king's release --Woe for the wings of pride and the shafts of doom! --And thou, the saddest windThat ever blew from Crete,Sing the fell tidings back to that thrice unhappy ship! --Sing to the western flame,Sing to the dying foam,A dirge for the sundered years and a dirge for the years to be!
Better his end had been as the end of a cloudless day,Bright, by the word of Zeus, with a golden star,Wrought of a golden fame, and flung to the central sky,To gleam on a stormless tomb for evermore: --Whether or not there fellTo the touch of an alien handThe sheen of his purple robe and the shine of his diadem,Better his end had beenTo die as an old man dies, --But the fates are ever the fates, and a crown is ever a crown.
Words in this poem
- blink v. i.
- To wink; to twinkle with, or as with, the eye. [OE. blenken; akin to dan. blinke, Sw. blinka, G. blinken to shine, glance, wink, twinkle, D. blinken to shine; and prob. to D. blikken to glance, twinkle, G. bl]
- lovingly adv.
- With love; affectionately.
- 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,]
- corpse n.
- A human body in general, whether living or dead; -- sometimes contemptuosly. [OF. cors (sometimes written corps), F. corps, L. corpus; akin to AS. hrif womb. See Midriff, and cf. Corse, Corselet, Corps, Cuerpo.]
- flare v. i.
- To burn with an unsteady or waving flame; as, the candle flares. [Cf. Norw. flara to blaze, flame, adorn with tinsel, dial. Sw. flasa upp, and E. flash, or flacker.]
- fateful a.
- Having the power of serving or accomplishing fate.
- loveless a.
- Void of love; void of tenderness or kindness. Milton. Shelton.
- dirge n.
- A piece of music of a mournful character, to accompany funeral rites; a funeral hymn. [Contraction of Lat. dirige, direct thou (imperative of dirigere), the first word of a funeral hymn (Lat. transl. of Psalm v. 8) beginning, "Dirige, Domine, in c]
- cloudless a.
- Without a cloud; clear; bright.
- stormless a.
- Without storms.
- evermore adv.
- During eternity; always; forever; for an indefinite period; at all times; -- often used substantively with for.
- sheen v. i.
- To shine; to glisten.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Walt Whitman is in the public domain. This text is taken from Children of the Night, Project Gutenberg ebook #313; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Edwin Arlington Robinson, Walt Whitman, in The Children of the Night (1897), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #313, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/robinson-children-of-night/walt-whitman.html, id L08020.
Form and metre
Walt Whitman is 65 lines in 7 verse paragraphs. It is unrhymed, as far as the pronouncing dictionary can tell. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 83%). 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 9.2 syllables. 5 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 26% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic pentameter, other poems in blank verse.
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.
- 2 -------AA man · song · day · rings · pure · large · know · menA · listenA
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 |
|---|---|---|
| The master-songs are ended, and the man | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| That sang them is a name. And so is God | 10 | ·········· |
| A name; and so is love, and life, and death, | 10 | ·········· |
| And everything. But we, who are too blind | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| To read what we have written, or what faith | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Has written for us, do not understand: | 10 | ·/˘·····˘/ |
| We only blink, and wonder. | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| Last night it was the song that was the man, | 10 | ·········· |
| But now it is the man that is the song. | 10 | ·········· |
| We do not hear him very much to-day: | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| His piercing and eternal cadence rings | 10 | ·/˘·˘/˘/˘· |
| Too pure for us -- too powerfully pure, | 9 | ·····/˘˘· |
| Too lovingly triumphant, and too large; | 10 | ·/˘˘˘/˘··· |
| But there are some that hear him, and they know | 10 | ·········· |
| That he shall sing to-morrow for all men, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| And that all time shall listen. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| The master-songs are ended? Rather say | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| No songs are ended that are ever sung, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| And that no names are dead names. When we write | 10 | ·········· |
| Men's letters on proud marble or on sand, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| We write them there forever. | 7 | ····˘/˘ |
| Ye gods that have a home beyond the world, | 10 | ·········· |
| Ye that have eyes for all man's agony, | 10 | ·······/˘˘ |
| Ye that have seen this woe that we have seen, -- | 10 | ·········· |
| Look with a just regard, | 6 | ····˘/ |
| And with an even grace, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Here on the shattered corpse of a shattered king, | 11 | ···/˘···/˘· |
| Here on a suffering world where men grow old | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And wander like sad shadows till, at last, | 10 | ·/˘··/···· |
| Out of the flare of life, | 6 | ······ |
| Out of the whirl of years, | 6 | ······ |
| Into the mist they go, | 6 | ······ |
| Into the mist of death. | 6 | ······ |
| O shades of you that loved him long before | 10 | ·········· |
| The cruel threads of that black sail were spun, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| May loyal arms and ancient welcomings | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘˘ |
| Receive him once again | 6 | ˘/··˘/ |
| Who now no longer moves | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Here in this flickering dance of changing days, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Where a battle is lost and won for a withered wreath, | 13 | ··/˘······/˘· |
| And the black master Death is over all, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| To chill with his approach, | 6 | ····˘/ |
| To level with his touch, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| The reigning strength of youth, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| The fluttered heart of age. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Woe for the fateful day when Delphi's word was lost -- | 12 | ···/˘··/˘··· |
| Woe for the loveless prince of Aethra's line! | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Woe for a father's tears and the curse of a king's release -- | 14 | ···/˘·······˘/ |
| Woe for the wings of pride and the shafts of doom! -- | 11 | ··········· |
| And thou, the saddest wind | 6 | ···/˘· |
| That ever blew from Crete, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Sing the fell tidings back to that thrice unhappy ship! -- | 13 | ···/˘····˘/˘· |
| Sing to the western flame, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Sing to the dying foam, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| A dirge for the sundered years and a dirge for the years to be! | 15 | ····/˘········· |
| Better his end had been as the end of a cloudless day, | 14 | /˘·········/˘· |
| Bright, by the word of Zeus, with a golden star, | 11 | ········/˘· |
| Wrought of a golden fame, and flung to the central sky, | 13 | ···/˘·····/˘· |
| To gleam on a stormless tomb for evermore: -- | 11 | ····/˘··/˘· |
| Whether or not there fell | 6 | ······ |
| To the touch of an alien hand | 9 | ·····/˘˘· |
| The sheen of his purple robe and the shine of his diadem, | 15 | ····/˘······/˘· |
| Better his end had been | 6 | /˘···· |
| To die as an old man dies, -- | 7 | ······· |
| But the fates are ever the fates, and a crown is ever a crown. | 14 | ····/······/·· |
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.