To W. P
Calm was the sea to which your course you kept,Oh, how much calmer than all southern seas!Many your nameless mates, whom the keen breezeWafted from mothers that of old have wept.All souls of children taken as they sleptAre your companions, partners of your ease,And the green souls of all these autumn treesAre with you through the silent spaces swept.Your virgin body gave its gentle breathUntainted to the gods. Why should we grieve,But that we merit not your holy death?We shall not loiter long, your friends and I;Living you made it goodlier to live,Dead you will make it easier to die.
With you a part of me hath passed away;For in the peopled forest of my mindA tree made leafless by this wintry windShall never don again its green array.Chapel and fireside, country road and bay,Have something of their friendliness resigned;Another, if I would, I could not find,And I am grown much older in a day.But yet I treasure in my memoryYour gift of charity, and young heart's ease,And the dear honour of your amity;For these once mine, my life is rich with these.And I scarce know which part may greater be,--What I keep of you, or you rob from me.
Your ship lies anchored in the peaceful bightUntil a kinder wind unfurl her sail;Your docile spirit, winged by this gale,Hath at the dawning fled into the light.And I half know why heaven deemed it rightYour youth, and this my joy in youth, should failGod hath them still, for ever they avail,Eternity hath borrowed that delight.For long ago I taught my thoughts to runWhere all the great things live that lived of yore,And in eternal quiet float and soar;There all my loves are gathered into one,Where change is not, nor parting any more,Nor revolution of the moon and sun.
In my deep heart these chimes would still have rungTo toll your passing, had you not been dead;For time a sadder mask than death may spreadOver the face that ever should be young.The bough that falls with all its trophies hungFalls not too soon, but lays its flower-crowned headMost royal in the dust, with no leaf shedUnhallowed or unchiselled or unsung.And though the after world will never hearThe happy name of one so gently true,Nor chronicles write large this fatal year,Yet we who loved you, though we be but few,Keep you in whatsoe'er is good, and rearIn our weak virtues monuments to you.
Words in this poem 17
- calmer n.
- One who, or that which, makes calm.
- nameless a.
- Without a name; not having been given a name; as, a nameless star.
- 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,]
- peopled a.
- Stocked with, or as with, people; inhabited.
- wintry a.
- Suitable to winter; resembling winter, or what belongs to winter; brumal; hyemal; cold; stormy; wintery. [AS. wintrig.]
- fireside n.
- A place near the fire or hearth; home; domestic life or retirement.
- friendliness n.
- The condition or quality of being friendly. Sir P. Sidney.
- resigned a.
- Submissive; yielding; not disposed to resist or murmur.
- honour n.
- Esteem due or paid to worth; high estimation; respect; consideration; reverence; veneration; manifestation of respect or reverence. [OE. honor, honour, onour, onur, OF. honor, onor, honur, onur, honour, onour, F. honneur, fr. L. honor, honos.]
- amity n.
- Friendship, in a general sense, between individuals, societies, or nations; friendly relations; good understanding; as, a treaty of amity and commerce; the amity of the Whigs and Tories. [F. amitié, OF. amistié, amisté, fr. an assumed LL. amisitas, fr. L. amicus friendly, from amare to love. See Amiable.]
- scarce a.
- Not plentiful or abundant; in small quantity in proportion to the demand; not easily to be procured; rare; uncommon. [OE. scars, OF. escars, eschars, LL. scarpsus, for L. excerptus, p. p. of excerpere to pick out, and hence to contract, to shorten; ex (see Ex-) + carpere. See C]
- anchored a.
- Held by an anchor; at anchor; held safely; as, an anchored bark; also, shaped like an anchor; forked; as, an anchored tongue.
- unfurl v. t.
- To loose from a furled state; to unfold; to expand; to open or spread; as, to unfurl sails; to unfurl a flag. [1st pref. un- + furl.]
- docile a.
- Teachable; easy to teach; docible. [L. docilis,fr. docere to teach; cf. Gr. discere to learn, Gr. docile. Cf. Doctor, Didactic, Disciple.]
- yore adv.
- In time long past; in old time; long since. [OE. , yare, , AS. geára;akin to geár a year, E. year. Year.]
- rung n.
- A floor timber in a ship. [OE. ronge, AS. hrung, a staff, rod, pole; akin to G. runge a short, thick piece of iron or wood, OD. ronghe a prop, support, Icel. röng a rib in a ship, Goth. H]
- unhallowed a.
- Not consecrated; hence, profane; unholy; impious; wicked. [Pref. un- not + hallowed.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
To W. P is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #49721; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: George Santayana, To W. P, in Poems (1922), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #49721, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/santayana-poems/to-w-p.html, id L21730.
Form and metre
To W. P is 56 lines in 4 stanzas of 14 lines each. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 88%).
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 ABBAABBAC-CD-D keptA · seasB · breezeB · weptA · sleptA · easeB · treesB · sweptA · breathC · grieve · deathC · iD · live · dieD
- 2 ABBAABBA-C-CDD awayA · mindB · windB · arrayA · bayA · resignedB · findB · dayA · memory · easeC · amity · theseC · beD · meD
- 3 ABBAABBACDDCDC bightA · sailB · galeB · lightA · rightA · failB · availB · delightA · runC · yoreD · soarD · oneC · moreD · sunC
- 4 ABBAABBACDCDCD rungA · deadB · spreadB · youngA · hungA · headB · shedB · unsungA · hearC · trueD · yearC · fewD · rearC · youD
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Calm was the sea to which your course you kept, | 10 | ·········· |
| Oh, how much calmer than all southern seas! | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Many your nameless mates, whom the keen breeze | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| Wafted from mothers that of old have wept. | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| All souls of children taken as they slept | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Are your companions, partners of your ease, | 10 | ··˘/˘/˘··· |
| And the green souls of all these autumn trees | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Are with you through the silent spaces swept. | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Your virgin body gave its gentle breath | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| Untainted to the gods. Why should we grieve, | 10 | ˘/˘······· |
| But that we merit not your holy death? | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| We shall not loiter long, your friends and I; | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Living you made it goodlier to live, | 9 | /˘······· |
| Dead you will make it easier to die. | 10 | ·····/˘˘·· |
| With you a part of me hath passed away; | 10 | ········˘/ |
| For in the peopled forest of my mind | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| A tree made leafless by this wintry wind | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Shall never don again its green array. | 10 | ·/˘·˘/··˘/ |
| Chapel and fireside, country road and bay, | 11 | /˘·/˘·/˘··· |
| Have something of their friendliness resigned; | 10 | ·/˘··/˘˘˘/ |
| Another, if I would, I could not find, | 10 | ˘/˘······· |
| And I am grown much older in a day. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| But yet I treasure in my memory | 10 | ···/˘··/˘˘ |
| Your gift of charity, and young heart's ease, | 10 | ···/˘˘···· |
| And the dear honour of your amity; | 10 | ···/˘··/˘˘ |
| For these once mine, my life is rich with these. | 10 | ·········· |
| And I scarce know which part may greater be,-- | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| What I keep of you, or you rob from me. | 10 | ·········· |
| Your ship lies anchored in the peaceful bight | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Until a kinder wind unfurl her sail; | 10 | ···/˘·˘/·· |
| Your docile spirit, winged by this gale, | 10 | ·/˘/˘·˘··· |
| Hath at the dawning fled into the light. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And I half know why heaven deemed it right | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Your youth, and this my joy in youth, should fail | 10 | ·········· |
| God hath them still, for ever they avail, | 10 | ·····/˘·˘/ |
| Eternity hath borrowed that delight. | 10 | ˘/˘˘·/··˘/ |
| For long ago I taught my thoughts to run | 10 | ··˘/······ |
| Where all the great things live that lived of yore, | 10 | ·········· |
| And in eternal quiet float and soar; | 10 | ··˘/˘/˘··· |
| There all my loves are gathered into one, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Where change is not, nor parting any more, | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Nor revolution of the moon and sun. | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| In my deep heart these chimes would still have rung | 10 | ·········· |
| To toll your passing, had you not been dead; | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| For time a sadder mask than death may spread | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Over the face that ever should be young. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| The bough that falls with all its trophies hung | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Falls not too soon, but lays its flower-crowned head | 10 | ·······/·· |
| Most royal in the dust, with no leaf shed | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Unhallowed or unchiselled or unsung. | 10 | ˘/˘·····˘/ |
| And though the after world will never hear | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| The happy name of one so gently true, | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Nor chronicles write large this fatal year, | 10 | ·/˘˘···/˘· |
| Yet we who loved you, though we be but few, | 10 | ·········· |
| Keep you in whatsoe'er is good, and rear | 9 | ········· |
| In our weak virtues monuments to 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.