The Female God
We curl into your eyes—They drink our fires and have never drained;In the fierce forest of your hairOur desires beat blindly for their treasure.
In your eyes’ subtle pit,Far down, glimmer our souls;And your hair like massive forest treesShadows our pulses, overtired and dumb.
Like a candle lost in an electric glareOur spirits tread your eyes’ infinities;In the wrecking waves of your tumultuous locksDo you not hear the moaning of our pulses?
Queen! Goddess! Animal!In sleep do your dreams battle with our souls?When your hair is spread like a lover on the pillowDo not our jealous pulses wake between?
You have dethroned the ancient God,You have usurped his Sabbath, his common days;Yea, every moment is delivered to you,Our Temple, our Eternal, our one God!
Our souls have passed into your eyes,Our days into your hair;And you, our rose-deaf prison, are very pleased with the world,Your world.
Words in this poem
- blindly adv.
- Without sight, discernment, or understanding; without thought, investigation, knowledge, or purpose of one's own.
- glare v. i.
- To shine with a bright, dazzling light. [OE. glaren, gloren; cf. AS. glær amber, LG. glaren to glow or burn like coals, D. gloren to glimmer; prob. akin to E. glass.]
- wrecking
- a. & n. from Wreck, v. Wrecking car (Railway), a car fitted up with apparatus and implements for removing the wreck occasioned by an accident, as by a collision.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Female God is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems by Isaac Rosenberg, Project Gutenberg ebook #66889; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Isaac Rosenberg, The Female God, in Poems (1922), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #66889, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/rosenberg-poems/the-female-god.html, id L02542.
Form and metre
The Female God is 24 lines in 6 stanzas of 4 lines each. The metre is trochaic hexameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 77%). 88% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.9 syllables. 5 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 21% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in trochaic hexameter.
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.
- 5 A--A godA · days · you · godA
- 6 --AA eyes · hair · worldA · worldA
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 trochaic hexameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| We curl into your eyes— | 6 | ······ |
| They drink our fires and have never drained; | 8 | ··//··/· |
| In the fierce forest of your hair | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Our desires beat blindly for their treasure. | 10 | /˘/·/˘··/˘ |
| In your eyes’ subtle pit, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Far down, glimmer our souls; | 6 | ··/˘/· |
| And your hair like massive forest trees | 9 | ····/˘/˘· |
| Shadows our pulses, overtired and dumb. | 10 | /·//˘····· |
| Like a candle lost in an electric glare | 11 | ··/˘···˘/˘· |
| Our spirits tread your eyes’ infinities; | 9 | //˘···˘/˘ |
| In the wrecking waves of your tumultuous locks | 11 | ··/˘····/˘· |
| Do you not hear the moaning of our pulses? | 11 | ·····/˘·//˘ |
| Queen! Goddess! Animal! | 6 | ·/˘/˘˘ |
| In sleep do your dreams battle with our souls? | 10 | ·····/˘·/· |
| When your hair is spread like a lover on the pillow | 13 | ·······/˘··/˘ |
| Do not our jealous pulses wake between? | 10 | ··//˘/˘··· |
| You have dethroned the ancient God, | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| You have usurped his Sabbath, his common days; | 11 | ···/·/˘·/˘· |
| Yea, every moment is delivered to you, | 11 | ·/˘/˘·˘/˘·· |
| Our Temple, our Eternal, our one God! | 10 | //˘/˘/˘/·· |
| Our souls have passed into your eyes, | 8 | /······· |
| Our days into your hair; | 6 | /····· |
| And you, our rose-deaf prison, are very pleased with the world, | 14 | ··/··/˘·/˘···· |
| Your world. | 2 | ·· |
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.