The Mayfair Love-Song
Winter and summer, night and morn,I languish at this table dark;My office window has a corn-er looks into St. James's Park.I hear the foot-guards' bugle-horn,Their tramp upon parade I mark;I am a gentleman forlorn,I am a Foreign-Office Clerk.
My toils, my pleasures, every one,I find are stale, and dull, and slow;And yesterday, when work was done,I felt myself so sad and low,I could have seized a sentry's gunMy wearied brains out out to blow.What is it makes my blood to run?What makes my heart to beat and glow?
My notes of hand are burnt, perhaps?Some one has paid my tailor's bill?No: every morn the tailor raps;My I O U's are extant still.I still am prey of debt and dun;My elder brother's stout and well.What is it makes my blood to run?What makes my heart to glow and swell?
I know my chief's distrust and hate;He says I'm lazy, and I shirk.Ah! had I genius like the lateRight Honorable Edmund Burke!My chance of all promotion's gone,I know it is,--he hates me so.What is it makes my blood to run,And all my heart to swell and glow?
Why, why is all so bright and gay?There is no change, there is no cause;My office-time I found to-dayDisgusting as it ever was.At three, I went and tried the Clubs,And yawned and saunter'd to and fro;And now my heart jumps up and throbs,And all my soul is in a glow.
At half-past four I had the cab;I drove as hard as I could go.The London sky was dirty drab,And dirty brown the London snow.And as I rattled in a cant-er down by dear old Bolton Row,A something made my heart to pant,And caused my cheek to flush and glow.
What could it be that made me findOld Jawkins pleasant at the Club?Why was it that I laughed and grinnedAt whist, although I lost the rub?What was it made me drink like madThirteen small glasses of Curaço?That made my inmost heart so glad,And every fibre thrill and glow?
She's home again! she's home, she's home!Away all cares and griefs and pain;I knew she would--she's back from Rome;She's home again! she's home again!"The family's gone abroad," they said,September last they told me so;Since then my lonely heart is dead,My blood I think's forgot to flow.
She's home again! away all care!O fairest form the world can show!O beaming eyes! O golden hair!O tender voice, that breathes so low!O gentlest, softest, purest heart!O joy, O hope!--"My tiger, ho!"Fitz-Clarence said; we saw him start--He galloped down to Bolton Row.
Words in this poem
- morn n.
- The first part of the day; the morning; -- used chiefly in poetry. [OE. morwen, morgen, AS. morgen; akin to D. morgen, OS. morgan, G. morgen, Icel. morginn, morgunn, Sw. morgon, Dan. morgen, Goth. maúrgins. Cf. Morrow, Morning.]
- languish v. i.
- To cause to dr Shak.
- forlorn a.
- Deserted abandoned; lost. [OE., p.p. of forlesen to lose utterly, AS. forleósan (p.p. forloren); pref. for- + leósan (in comp.) to lose; cf. D. verliezen to lose, G. verlieren, Sw. förlor]
- clerk n.
- A clergyman or ecclesiastic. [Either OF. clerc, fr. L. clericus a priest, or AS. clerc, cleric, clerk, priest, fr. L. clericus, fr. Gr. Clergy.]
- extant a.
- Standing out or above any surface; protruded. [L. extans, -antis, or exstans, -antis, p.pr. of extare, exstare, to stand out or forth; ex out + stare to stand: cf. F. extant. See Stand.]
- went n.
- Course; way; path; journey; direction.
- drove n.
- A collection of cattle driven, or cattle collected for driving; a number of animals, as oxen, sheep, or swine, driven in a body. [AS. draf, fr. drifan to drive. See Drive.]
- pant v. i.
- To breathe quickly or in a labored manner, as after exertion or from eagerness or excitement; to respire with heaving of the breast; to gasp. [Cf. F. panteler to gasp for breath, OF. panteisier to be breathless, F. pantois out of breath; perh. akin to E. phantom, the verb prob. orig. meaning, to have t]
- whist v. t.
- To hush or silence. [From Whist, interj.]
- inmost a.
- Deepest within; farthest from the surface or external part; innermost. [OE. innemest, AS. innemest, a double superlative form fr. inne within, fr. in in. The modern form is due to confusion with most. See In, and cf. Aftermost, Fore]
- fibre n.
- One of the delicate, threadlike portions of which the tissues of plants and animals are in part constituted; as, the fiber of flax or of muscle. [F. fibre, L. fibra.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Mayfair Love-Song is in the public domain. This text is taken from Ballads, Project Gutenberg ebook #2732; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: William Makepeace Thackeray, The Mayfair Love-Song, in Ballads (1849–1855), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #2732, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/thackeray-ballads/the-mayfair-love-song.html, id L10356.
Form and metre
The Mayfair Love-Song is 72 lines in 9 stanzas of 8 lines each. The metre is iambic tetrameter, 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 8.0 syllables. 8% 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 ABABABA- mornA · darkB · cornA · parkB · hornA · markB · forlornA · clerk
- 2 ABABABAB oneA · slowB · doneA · lowB · gunA · blowB · runA · glowB
- 3 ABABCDCD perhapsA · billB · rapsA · stillB · dunC · wellD · runC · swellD
- 4 ABAB-C-C hateA · shirkB · lateA · burkeB · gone · soC · run · glowC
- 5 ABAB-C-C gayA · causeB · dayA · wasB · clubs · froC · throbs · glowC
- 6 ABABCBCB cabA · goB · drabA · snowB · cantC · rowB · pantC · glowB
- 7 -A-AB-B- find · clubA · grinned · rubA · madB · curaço · gladB · glow
- 8 ABABCDCD homeA · painB · romeA · againB · saidC · soD · deadC · flowD
- 9 ABABCBCB careA · showB · hairA · lowB · heartC · hoB · startC · rowB
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Winter and summer, night and morn, | 8 | /˘·/˘··· |
| I languish at this table dark; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| My office window has a corn- | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| er looks into St. James's Park. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| I hear the foot-guards' bugle-horn, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Their tramp upon parade I mark; | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| I am a gentleman forlorn, | 8 | ···/˘˘˘/ |
| I am a Foreign-Office Clerk. | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| My toils, my pleasures, every one, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| I find are stale, and dull, and slow; | 8 | ········ |
| And yesterday, when work was done, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| I felt myself so sad and low, | 8 | ···/···· |
| I could have seized a sentry's gun | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| My wearied brains out out to blow. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| What is it makes my blood to run? | 8 | ········ |
| What makes my heart to beat and glow? | 8 | ········ |
| My notes of hand are burnt, perhaps? | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Some one has paid my tailor's bill? | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| No: every morn the tailor raps; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| My I O U's are extant still. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| I still am prey of debt and dun; | 8 | ········ |
| My elder brother's stout and well. | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| What is it makes my blood to run? | 8 | ········ |
| What makes my heart to glow and swell? | 8 | ········ |
| I know my chief's distrust and hate; | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| He says I'm lazy, and I shirk. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Ah! had I genius like the late | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Right Honorable Edmund Burke! | 8 | ·/˘˘˘/˘· |
| My chance of all promotion's gone, | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| I know it is,--he hates me so. | 8 | ········ |
| What is it makes my blood to run, | 8 | ········ |
| And all my heart to swell and glow? | 8 | ········ |
| Why, why is all so bright and gay? | 8 | ········ |
| There is no change, there is no cause; | 8 | ········ |
| My office-time I found to-day | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Disgusting as it ever was. | 8 | ˘/˘··/˘· |
| At three, I went and tried the Clubs, | 8 | ········ |
| And yawned and saunter'd to and fro; | 8 | ········ |
| And now my heart jumps up and throbs, | 8 | ········ |
| And all my soul is in a glow. | 8 | ········ |
| At half-past four I had the cab; | 8 | ········ |
| I drove as hard as I could go. | 8 | ········ |
| The London sky was dirty drab, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| And dirty brown the London snow. | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| And as I rattled in a cant- | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| er down by dear old Bolton Row, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| A something made my heart to pant, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And caused my cheek to flush and glow. | 8 | ········ |
| What could it be that made me find | 8 | ········ |
| Old Jawkins pleasant at the Club? | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Why was it that I laughed and grinned | 8 | ········ |
| At whist, although I lost the rub? | 8 | ········ |
| What was it made me drink like mad | 8 | ········ |
| Thirteen small glasses of Curaço? | 9 | //·/˘···· |
| That made my inmost heart so glad, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And every fibre thrill and glow? | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| She's home again! she's home, she's home! | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| Away all cares and griefs and pain; | 8 | ˘/······ |
| I knew she would--she's back from Rome; | 8 | ········ |
| She's home again! she's home again! | 8 | ··˘/··˘/ |
| "The family's gone abroad," they said, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| September last they told me so; | 8 | ˘/˘····· |
| Since then my lonely heart is dead, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| My blood I think's forgot to flow. | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| She's home again! away all care! | 8 | ··˘/˘/·· |
| O fairest form the world can show! | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| O beaming eyes! O golden hair! | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| O tender voice, that breathes so low! | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| O gentlest, softest, purest heart! | 8 | ·/˘/˘/˘· |
| O joy, O hope!--"My tiger, ho!" | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Fitz-Clarence said; we saw him start-- | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| He galloped down to Bolton Row. | 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.