Stella's Birth-Day. 1724-5
As when a beauteous nymph decays,We say she's past her dancing days;So poets lose their feet by time,And can no longer dance in rhyme.Your annual bard had rather choseTo celebrate your birth in prose:Yet merry folks, who want by chanceA pair to make a country dance,Call the old housekeeper, and get herTo fill a place for want of better:While Sheridan is off the hooks,And friend Delany at his books,That Stella may avoid disgrace,Once more the Dean supplies their place.Beauty and wit, too sad a truth!Have always been confined to youth;The god of wit and beauty's queen,He twenty-one and she fifteen,No poet ever sweetly sung,Unless he were, like Phoebus, young;Nor ever nymph inspired to rhyme,Unless, like Venus, in her prime.At fifty-six, if this be true,Am I a poet fit for you?Or, at the age of forty-three,Are you a subject fit for me?Adieu! bright wit, and radiant eyes!You must be grave and I be wise.Our fate in vain we would oppose:But I'll be still your friend in prose:Esteem and friendship to express,Will not require poetic dress;And if the Muse deny her aidTo have them sung, they may be said.But, Stella, say, what evil tongueReports you are no longer young;That Time sits with his scythe to mowWhere erst sat Cupid with his bow;That half your locks are turn'd to gray?I'll ne'er believe a word they say.'Tis true, but let it not be known,My eyes are somewhat dimmish grown;For nature, always in the right,To your decays adapts my sight;And wrinkles undistinguished pass,For I'm ashamed to use a glass:And till I see them with these eyes,Whoever says you have them, lies.No length of time can make you quitHonour and virtue, sense and wit;Thus you may still be young to me,While I can better hear than see.O ne'er may Fortune show her spite,To make me deaf, and mend my sight!
Words in this poem
- beauteous a.
- Full of beauty; beautiful; very handsome. [Mostly poetic] -- Beau"te*ous*ly, adv. --
- folks n.
- In Anglo-Saxon times, the people of a group of townships or villages; a community; a tribe. [AS. folc; akin to D. volk, OS. & OHG. folk, G. volk, Icel. f, Sw. & Dan. folk, Lith. pulkas crowd, and perh. to E. follow.]
- housekeeper n.
- One who occupies a house with his family; a householder; the master or mistress of a family.
- avoid v. t.
- To empty. Wyclif. [OF. esvuidier, es (L. ex) + vuidier, voidier, to empty. See Void, a.]
- phoebus n.
- Apollo; the sun god.
- cupid
- The god of love, son of Venus; usually represented as a naked, winged boy with bow and arrow. [L.Cupido, fr. cupido desire, desire of love, fr. cupidus. See Cupidity.]
- dimmish a.
- Somewhat dim; as, dimmish eyes.
- whoever pron.
- Whatever person; any person who; be or she who; any one who; as, he shall be punished, whoever he may be.
- 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.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Stella's Birth-Day. 1724-5 is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D., Volume 2, Project Gutenberg ebook #13621; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Jonathan Swift, Stella's Birth-Day. 1724-5, in Cadenus and Vanessa, and Other Poems (1710–1745), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #13621, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/swift-poems/stella-s-birth-day-1724-5.html, id L09245.
Form and metre
Stella's Birth-Day. 1724-5 is 54 lines in a single stanza. It is in rhyming couplets, 89% of the lines: octosyllabic couplets. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%). 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.1 syllables. 1 line ends on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 13% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in octosyllabic couplets, 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 AABBCCDD--EEFFGGHHIIJJKKLLMMNNOO--PP--QQRRSSTTUUVVWWXX decaysA · daysA · timeB · rhymeB · choseC · proseC · chanceD · danceD · her · better · hooksE · booksE · disgraceF · placeF · truthG · youthG · queenH · fifteenH · sungI · youngI · rhymeJ · primeJ · trueK · youK · threeL · meL · eyesM · wiseM · opposeN · proseN · expressO · dressO · aid · said · tongueP · youngP · mow · bow · grayQ · sayQ · knownR · grownR · rightS · sightS · passT · glassT · eyesU · liesU · quitV · witV · meW · seeW · spiteX · sightX
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 |
|---|---|---|
| As when a beauteous nymph decays, | 9 | ···/˘˘·˘/ |
| We say she's past her dancing days; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| So poets lose their feet by time, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And can no longer dance in rhyme. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Your annual bard had rather chose | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| To celebrate your birth in prose: | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Yet merry folks, who want by chance | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| A pair to make a country dance, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Call the old housekeeper, and get her | 9 | ···/·˘··· |
| To fill a place for want of better: | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| While Sheridan is off the hooks, | 8 | ·/˘˘···· |
| And friend Delany at his books, | 8 | ··/˘˘··· |
| That Stella may avoid disgrace, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘/ |
| Once more the Dean supplies their place. | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| Beauty and wit, too sad a truth! | 8 | /˘······ |
| Have always been confined to youth; | 8 | ·/··˘/·· |
| The god of wit and beauty's queen, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| He twenty-one and she fifteen, | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| No poet ever sweetly sung, | 8 | ·/˘/˘/˘· |
| Unless he were, like Phoebus, young; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Nor ever nymph inspired to rhyme, | 8 | ·/·˘/˘·· |
| Unless, like Venus, in her prime. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| At fifty-six, if this be true, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Am I a poet fit for you? | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Or, at the age of forty-three, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Are you a subject fit for me? | 8 | ···˘/··· |
| Adieu! bright wit, and radiant eyes! | 8 | ˘/···/˘· |
| You must be grave and I be wise. | 8 | ········ |
| Our fate in vain we would oppose: | 8 | /·····˘/ |
| But I'll be still your friend in prose: | 8 | ········ |
| Esteem and friendship to express, | 8 | ˘/·/˘·˘/ |
| Will not require poetic dress; | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| And if the Muse deny her aid | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| To have them sung, they may be said. | 8 | ········ |
| But, Stella, say, what evil tongue | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Reports you are no longer young; | 8 | ˘/···/˘· |
| That Time sits with his scythe to mow | 8 | ········ |
| Where erst sat Cupid with his bow; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| That half your locks are turn'd to gray? | 8 | ········ |
| I'll ne'er believe a word they say. | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| 'Tis true, but let it not be known, | 8 | ········ |
| My eyes are somewhat dimmish grown; | 8 | ···//··· |
| For nature, always in the right, | 8 | ·/˘/···· |
| To your decays adapts my sight; | 8 | ··˘/˘/·· |
| And wrinkles undistinguished pass, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘· |
| For I'm ashamed to use a glass: | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| And till I see them with these eyes, | 8 | ········ |
| Whoever says you have them, lies. | 8 | ˘/˘····· |
| No length of time can make you quit | 8 | ········ |
| Honour and virtue, sense and wit; | 8 | /˘·/˘··· |
| Thus you may still be young to me, | 8 | ········ |
| While I can better hear than see. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| O ne'er may Fortune show her spite, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| To make me deaf, and mend my sight! | 8 | ········ |
Notes from the edition 1
The notes to the Poems of Jonathan Swift, Volume II (Project Gutenberg #13621).
- Line 54 Now deaf, 1740.--Swift. This pathetic note was in Swift's writing in his own copy of the "Miscellanies," edit. 1727-32.--W. E. B.
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