A Better Resurrection
I have no wit, no words, no tears;My heart within me like a stoneIs numbed too much for hopes or fears.Look right, look left, I dwell alone;I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with griefNo everlasting hills I see;My life is in the falling leaf:O Jesus, quicken me.
My life is like a faded leaf,My harvest dwindled to a husk;Truly my life is void and briefAnd tedious in the barren dusk;My life is like a frozen thing,No bud nor greenness can I see:Yet rise it shall--the sap of Spring;O Jesus, rise in me.
My life is like a broken bowl,A broken bowl that cannot holdOne drop of water for my soulOr cordial in the searching coldCast in the fire the perished thing,Melt and remould it, till it beA royal cup for Him my King:O Jesus, drink of me.
Words in this poem
- dwell v. i.
- To delay; to linger. [OE. dwellen, dwelien, to err, linger, AS. dwellan to deceive, hinder, delay, dwelian to err; akin to Icel. dvelja to delay, tarry, Sw. dväljas to dwell, Dan. dv]
- 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,]
- remould v. t.
- To mold or shape anew or again; to reshape.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
A Better Resurrection is in the public domain. This text is taken from Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress, and Other Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #16950; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Christina Rossetti, A Better Resurrection, in Goblin Market and Other Poems (1862), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #16950, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/rossetti-goblin-market/a-better-resurrection.html, id L04279.
Form and metre
A Better Resurrection is 24 lines in 3 stanzas of 8 lines each. Every stanza rhymes ABABCDCD. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 95%). 100% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.8 syllables. 29% 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 ABABCDCD tearsA · stoneB · fearsA · aloneB · griefC · seeD · leafC · meD
- 2 ABABCDCD leafA · huskB · briefA · duskB · thingC · seeD · springC · meD
- 3 ABABCDCD bowlA · holdB · soulA · coldB · thingC · beD · kingC · meD
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 have no wit, no words, no tears; | 8 | ········ |
| My heart within me like a stone | 8 | ········ |
| Is numbed too much for hopes or fears. | 8 | ········ |
| Look right, look left, I dwell alone; | 8 | ······˘/ |
| I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief | 8 | ········ |
| No everlasting hills I see; | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| My life is in the falling leaf: | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| O Jesus, quicken me. | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| My life is like a faded leaf, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| My harvest dwindled to a husk; | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Truly my life is void and brief | 8 | /˘······ |
| And tedious in the barren dusk; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| My life is like a frozen thing, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| No bud nor greenness can I see: | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Yet rise it shall--the sap of Spring; | 8 | ········ |
| O Jesus, rise in me. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| My life is like a broken bowl, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| A broken bowl that cannot hold | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| One drop of water for my soul | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Or cordial in the searching cold | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Cast in the fire the perished thing, | 8 | ···/·/˘· |
| Melt and remould it, till it be | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| A royal cup for Him my King: | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| O Jesus, drink of 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.