Lady Maggie
You must not call me Maggie, you must not call me Dear,For I'm Lady of the Manor now stately to see;And if there comes a babe, as there may some happy year,'Twill be little lord or lady at my knee.
Oh, but what ails you, my sailor cousin Phil,That you shake and turn white like a cockcrow ghost?You're as white as I turned once down by the mill,When one told me you and ship and crew were lost:
Philip my playfellow, when we were boy and girl(It was the Miller's Nancy told it to me),Philip with the merry life in lip and curl,Philip my playfellow drowned in the sea!
I thought I should have fainted, but I did not faint;I stood stunned at the moment, scarcely sad,Till I raised my wail of desolate complaintFor you, my cousin, brother, all I had.
They said I looked so pale--some say so fair--My lord stopped in passing to soothe me back to life:I know I missed a ringlet from my hairNext morning; and now I am his wife.
Look at my gown, Philip, and look at my ring,I'm all crimson and gold from top to toe:All day long I sit in the sun and sing,Where in the sun red roses blush and blow.
And I'm the rose of roses says my lord;And to him I'm more than the sun in the sky,While I hold him fast with the golden cordOf a curl, with the eyelash of an eye.
His mother said 'fie,' and his sisters cried 'shame,'His highborn ladies cried 'shame' from their place:They said 'fie' when they only heard my name,But fell silent when they saw my face.
Am I so fair, Philip? Philip, did you thinkI was so fair when we played boy and girl,Where blue forget-me-nots bloomed on the brinkOf our stream which the mill-wheel sent a whirl?
If I was fair then sure I'm fairer now,Sitting where a score of servants stand,With a coronet on high days for my browAnd almost a sceptre for my hand.
You're but a sailor, Philip, weatherbeaten brown,A stranger on land and at home on the sea,Coasting as best you may from town to town:Coasting along do you often think of me?
I'm a great lady in a sheltered bower,With hands grown white through having nought to do:Yet sometimes I think of you hour after hourTill I nigh wish myself a child with you.
Words in this poem
- babe n.
- An infant; a young child of either sex; a baby. [Cf. Ir. bab, baban, W. baban, maban.]
- cockcrow n.
- The time at which cooks first crow; the early morning.
- ghost n.
- The spirit; the soul of man. [OE. gast, gost, soul, spirit, AS. gast breath, spirit, soul; akin to OS. g spirit, soul, D. geest, G. geist, and prob. to E. gaze, ghastly.]
- playfellow n.
- A companion in amusements or sports; a playmate.
- soothe v. t.
- To assent to as true. Testament of Love. [Originally, to assent to as true; OE. so to verify, AS. ges to prove the truth of, to bear witness. See Sooth, a.]
- ringlet n.
- A small ring; a small circle; specifically, a fairy ring. [Ring + -let.]
- eyelash n.
- The fringe of hair that edges the eyelid; -- usually in the pl.
- highborn a.
- Of noble birth.
- brink n.
- The edge, margin, or border of a steep place, as of a precipice; a bank or edge, as of a river or pit; a verge; a border; as, the brink of a chasm. Also Fig. [Dan. brink edge, verge; akin to Sw. brink declivity, hill, Icel. brekka; cf. LG. brink a grassy hill, W. bryn hill, bryncyn hillock.]
- sceptre n.
- A staff or baton borne by a sovereign, as a ceremonial badge or emblem of authority; a royal mace. [F. sceptre, L. sceptrum, from Gr. shaft. See Shaft, and cf. Scape a stem, shaft.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Lady Maggie 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, Lady Maggie, in Goblin Market and Other Poems (1862), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #16950, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/rossetti-goblin-market/lady-maggie.html, id L04313.
Form and metre
Lady Maggie is 48 lines in 12 stanzas of 4 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, complete in 11 of its 12 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 81%). 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 10.5 syllables. 17% 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 ABAB dearA · seeB · yearA · kneeB
- 2 A-A- philA · ghost · millA · lost
- 3 ABAB girlA · meB · curlA · seaB
- 4 ABAB faintA · sadB · complaintA · hadB
- 5 ABAB fairA · lifeB · hairA · wifeB
- 6 ABAB ringA · toeB · singA · blowB
- 7 ABAB lordA · skyB · cordA · eyeB
- 8 ABAB shameA · placeB · nameA · faceB
- 9 ABAB thinkA · girlB · brinkA · whirlB
- 10 ABAB nowA · standB · browA · handB
- 11 ABAB brownA · seaB · townA · meB
- 12 ABAB bowerA · doB · hourA · youB
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 |
|---|---|---|
| You must not call me Maggie, you must not call me Dear, | 13 | ·····/˘······ |
| For I'm Lady of the Manor now stately to see; | 13 | ··/˘··/˘·/˘·· |
| And if there comes a babe, as there may some happy year, | 13 | ··········/˘· |
| 'Twill be little lord or lady at my knee. | 11 | ··/˘··/˘··· |
| Oh, but what ails you, my sailor cousin Phil, | 11 | ······/˘/˘· |
| That you shake and turn white like a cockcrow ghost? | 11 | ··········· |
| You're as white as I turned once down by the mill, | 11 | ··········· |
| When one told me you and ship and crew were lost: | 11 | ··········· |
| Philip my playfellow, when we were boy and girl | 11 | /˘·/˘······ |
| (It was the Miller's Nancy told it to me), | 11 | ···/˘/˘···· |
| Philip with the merry life in lip and curl, | 11 | /˘··/˘····· |
| Philip my playfellow drowned in the sea! | 9 | /˘·/˘···· |
| I thought I should have fainted, but I did not faint; | 12 | ·····/˘····· |
| I stood stunned at the moment, scarcely sad, | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Till I raised my wail of desolate complaint | 10 | ······/˘˘/ |
| For you, my cousin, brother, all I had. | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| They said I looked so pale--some say so fair-- | 10 | ·········· |
| My lord stopped in passing to soothe me back to life: | 12 | ····/˘······ |
| I know I missed a ringlet from my hair | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Next morning; and now I am his wife. | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| Look at my gown, Philip, and look at my ring, | 11 | ····/˘····· |
| I'm all crimson and gold from top to toe: | 10 | ··/˘······ |
| All day long I sit in the sun and sing, | 10 | ·········· |
| Where in the sun red roses blush and blow. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| And I'm the rose of roses says my lord; | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| And to him I'm more than the sun in the sky, | 11 | ··········· |
| While I hold him fast with the golden cord | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Of a curl, with the eyelash of an eye. | 10 | ·····/···· |
| His mother said 'fie,' and his sisters cried 'shame,' | 11 | ·/˘····/˘·· |
| His highborn ladies cried 'shame' from their place: | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| They said 'fie' when they only heard my name, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| But fell silent when they saw my face. | 9 | ··/˘····· |
| Am I so fair, Philip? Philip, did you think | 11 | ····/˘/˘··· |
| I was so fair when we played boy and girl, | 10 | ·········· |
| Where blue forget-me-nots bloomed on the brink | 10 | ··˘/······ |
| Of our stream which the mill-wheel sent a whirl? | 10 | ·/········ |
| If I was fair then sure I'm fairer now, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Sitting where a score of servants stand, | 9 | /˘····/˘· |
| With a coronet on high days for my brow | 11 | ··/˘/······ |
| And almost a sceptre for my hand. | 9 | ·/··/˘··· |
| You're but a sailor, Philip, weatherbeaten brown, | 10 | ···/˘/˘/˘· |
| A stranger on land and at home on the sea, | 11 | ·/˘········ |
| Coasting as best you may from town to town: | 10 | /˘········ |
| Coasting along do you often think of me? | 11 | /˘˘/··/˘··· |
| I'm a great lady in a sheltered bower, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘/ |
| With hands grown white through having nought to do: | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Yet sometimes I think of you hour after hour | 11 | ·˘/····/··/ |
| Till I nigh wish myself a child with you. | 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.