You say, but with no touch of scorn
You say, but with no touch of scorn,Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyesAre tender over drowning flies,You tell me, doubt is Devil-born.
I know not: one indeed I knewIn many a subtle question versed,Who touched a jarring lyre at first,But ever strove to make it true:
Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds,At last he beat his music out,There lives more faith in honest doubt,Believe me, than in half the creeds.
He fought his doubts and gather’d strength,He would not make his judgment blind,He faced the spectres of the mindAnd laid them: thus he came at length
To find a stronger faith his own;And Power was with him in the night,Which makes the darkness and the light,And dwells not in the light alone,
But in the darkness and the cloud,As over Sinaï’s peaks of old,While Israel made their gods of goldAltho’ the trumpet blew so loud.
Words in this poem
- jarring a.
- Shaking; disturbing; discordant. [See Jar.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
You say, but with no touch of scorn is in the public domain. This text is taken from In memoriam, Project Gutenberg ebook #70950; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Alfred Tennyson, You say, but with no touch of scorn, in In Memoriam A.H.H. (1850), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #70950, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/tennyson-in-memoriam/section-94.html, id L18454.
Form and metre
You say, but with no touch of scorn is 24 lines in 6 stanzas of 4 lines each. Every stanza rhymes ABBA. 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 8.0 syllables. 21% 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 ABBA scornA · eyesB · fliesB · bornA
- 2 ABBA knewA · versedB · firstB · trueA
- 3 ABBA deedsA · outB · doubtB · creedsA
- 4 ABBA strengthA · blindB · mindB · lengthA
- 5 ABBA ownA · nightB · lightB · aloneA
- 6 ABBA cloudA · oldB · goldB · loudA
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 |
|---|---|---|
| You say, but with no touch of scorn, | 8 | ········ |
| Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyes | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Are tender over drowning flies, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| You tell me, doubt is Devil-born. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| I know not: one indeed I knew | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| In many a subtle question versed, | 8 | ·/·/˘/˘· |
| Who touched a jarring lyre at first, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| But ever strove to make it true: | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, | 8 | ········ |
| At last he beat his music out, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| There lives more faith in honest doubt, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Believe me, than in half the creeds. | 8 | ˘/······ |
| He fought his doubts and gather’d strength, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| He would not make his judgment blind, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| He faced the spectres of the mind | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And laid them: thus he came at length | 8 | ········ |
| To find a stronger faith his own; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And Power was with him in the night, | 8 | ·/······ |
| Which makes the darkness and the light, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And dwells not in the light alone, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| But in the darkness and the cloud, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| As over Sinaï’s peaks of old, | 8 | ········ |
| While Israel made their gods of gold | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Altho’ the trumpet blew so loud. | 8 | ˘/·/˘··· |
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.