There's No Lust Like to Poetry
Sweet in goodly fellowshipTastes red wine and rare O!But to kiss a girl's ripe lipIs a gift more fair O!Yet a gift more sweet, more fine,Is the lyre of Maro!While these three good gifts were mine,I'd not change with Pharaoh.
Bacchus wakes within my breastLove and love's desire,Venus comes and stirs the blessedRage of Phoebus' fire;Deathless honour is our dueFrom the laurelled sire:Woe should I turn traitor toWine and love and lyre!
Should a tyrant rise and say,"Give up wine!" I'd do it;"Love no girls!" I would obey,Though my heart should rue it."Dash thy lyre!" suppose he saith,Naught should bring me to it;"Yield thy lyre or die!" my breath,Dying, should thrill through it!
Words in this poem
- goodly a.
- Pleasant; agreeable; desirable. [OE. godlich, AS. g. See Good, and Like.]
- pharaoh n.
- A title by which the sovereigns of ancient Egypt were designated. [Heb. paroh; of Egyptian origin: cf. L. pharao, Gr. Faro.]
- deathless a.
- Not subject to death, destruction, or extinction; immortal; undying; imperishable; as, deathless beings; deathless fame.
- 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.]
- sire n.
- A lord, master, or other person in authority. See Sir. [F. sire, originally, an older person. See Sir.]
- saith
- 3d pers. sing. pres. of Say.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
There's No Lust Like to Poetry is in the public domain. This text is taken from Wine, Women, and Song Mediaeval Latin Students' songs; Now first translated into English verse, Project Gutenberg ebook #18044; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: John Addington Symonds, There's No Lust Like to Poetry, in Wine, Women and Song (1884), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #18044, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/symonds-wine-women/there-s-no-lust-like-to-poetry.html, id L11858.
Form and metre
There's No Lust Like to Poetry is 24 lines in 3 stanzas of 8 lines each. The metre is trochaic trimeter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 93%). 98% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 6.5 syllables. 5 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 25% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in trochaic trimeter.
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 ABABC-C- fellowshipA · oB · lipA · oB · fineC · maro · mineC · pharaoh
- 2 ABABCBC- breastA · desireB · blessedA · fireB · dueC · sireB · toC · lyre
- 3 ABABCBCB sayA · itB · obeyA · itB · saithC · itB · breathC · itB
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 trimeter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Sweet in goodly fellowship | 7 | ··/˘/˘· |
| Tastes red wine and rare O! | 6 | ······ |
| But to kiss a girl's ripe lip | 7 | ······· |
| Is a gift more fair O! | 6 | ······ |
| Yet a gift more sweet, more fine, | 7 | ······· |
| Is the lyre of Maro! | 6 | ····/˘ |
| While these three good gifts were mine, | 7 | ······· |
| I'd not change with Pharaoh. | 6 | ····/˘ |
| Bacchus wakes within my breast | 7 | /˘····· |
| Love and love's desire, | 6 | ···˘/˘ |
| Venus comes and stirs the blessed | 7 | /˘····· |
| Rage of Phoebus' fire; | 6 | ··/˘/˘ |
| Deathless honour is our due | 7 | /˘/˘·/· |
| From the laurelled sire: | 7 | ··/˘˘/˘ |
| Woe should I turn traitor to | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Wine and love and lyre! | 5 | ····· |
| Should a tyrant rise and say, | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| "Give up wine!" I'd do it; | 6 | ······ |
| "Love no girls!" I would obey, | 7 | ·····˘/ |
| Though my heart should rue it. | 6 | ······ |
| "Dash thy lyre!" suppose he saith, | 7 | ···˘/·· |
| Naught should bring me to it; | 6 | ······ |
| "Yield thy lyre or die!" my breath, | 7 | ······· |
| Dying, should thrill through it! | 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.