A Trifle
I know not why, but ev'n to meMy songs seem sweet when read to thee.
Perhaps in this the pleasure lies--I read my thoughts within thine eyes.
And so dare fancy that my artMay sink as deeply as thy heart.
Perhaps I love to make my wordsSing round thee like so many birds,
Or, maybe, they are only sweetAs they seem offerings at thy feet.
Or haply, Lily, when I speak,I think, perchance, they touch thy cheek,
Or with a yet more precious bliss,Die on thy red lips in a kiss.
Each reason here--I cannot tell--Or all perhaps may solve the spell.
But if she watch when I am by,Lily may deeper see than I.
I saw, or dreamed I saw, her sitting lone,Her neck bent like a swan's, her brown eyes thrownOn some sweet poem--his, I think, who singsOenone, or the hapless Maud: no ringsFlashed from the dainty fingers, which held backHer beautiful blonde hair. Ah! would these blackLocks of mine own were mingling with it now,And these warm lips were pressed against her brow!And, as she turned a page, methought I heard--Hush! could it be?--a faintly murmured word,It was so softly dwelt on--such a smilePlayed on her brow and wreathed her lip the whileThat my heart leaped to hear it, and a flameBurned on my forehead--Sa'ra!--'t was my name.
If I have graced no single song of mineWith thy sweet name, they all are full of thee;Thou art my Muse, my "May", my "Madeline":But "Julia"!--ah! that gentle name to meIs something far too sacred for the throngOf worldly listeners 'round me. Yet ev'n nowI weave a chaplet for thy sinless brow;--Wilt thou not wear it? 'T is a fashionable song,--I will not say of what,--but on it IHave wreaked heart, mind, my love, my hopes of fame,Yet after all it hath no nobler aimThan thy dear praise. Ere many moons pass by,When the lost gem is set, the crown complete,I'll lay a poet's tribute at thy feet.
Words in this poem
- maybe adv.
- Perhaps; possibly; peradventure. [For it may be.]
- haply adv.
- By hap, chance, luck, or accident; perhaps; it may be.
- lone n.
- A lane. See Loanin.
- hapless a.
- Without hap or luck; luckless; unfortunate; unlucky; unhappy; as, hapless youth; hapless maid.
- maud n.
- A gray plaid; -- used by shepherds in Scotland.
- dainty n.
- Value; estimation; the gratification or pleasure taken in anything. [OE. deinie, dainte, deintie, deyntee, OF. deintié delicacy, orig., dignity, honor, fr. L. dignitas, fr. dignus worthy. See Deign, and cf. Dignity.]
- blonde a.
- Of a fair color; light-colored; as, blond hair; a blond complexion. [F., fair, light, of uncertain origin; cf. AS. blonden-feax gray-haired, old, prop. blended-haired, as a mixture of white and brown or black. See Blend, v. t.]
- graced a.
- Endowed with grace; beautiful; full of graces; honorable.
- chaplet n.
- A garland or wreath to be worn on the head. [F. chapelet, dim. of OF. chapel hat, garland, dim. fr. LL. cappa. See Cap, and cf. Chapelet, Chapeau.]
- sinless a.
- Free from sin. Piers Plowman.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
A Trifle is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems of Henry Timrod; with Memoir, Project Gutenberg ebook #845; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Henry Timrod, A Trifle, in Poems (1860–1867), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #845, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/timrod-poems/a-trifle.html, id L10523.
Form and metre
A Trifle is 46 lines in 11 verse paragraphs. It is in rhyming couplets, 78% of the lines: heroic couplets. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 86%). 97% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 9.3 syllables. 1 line ends on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 39% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in heroic couplets, 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 AA meA · theeA
- 2 AA liesA · eyesA
- 3 AA artA · heartA
- 4 AA wordsA · birdsA
- 5 AA sweetA · feetA
- 6 AA speakA · cheekA
- 7 AA blissA · kissA
- 8 AA tellA · spellA
- 9 AA byA · iA
- 10 AABBCCDDEEFFGG loneA · thrownA · singsB · ringsB · backC · blackC · nowD · browD · heardE · wordE · smileF · whileF · flameG · nameG
- 11 ABABCDDCEFFEGG mineA · theeB · madelineA · meB · throngC · nowD · browD · songC · iE · fameF · aimF · byE · completeG · feetG
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 |
|---|---|---|
| I know not why, but ev'n to me | 8 | ········ |
| My songs seem sweet when read to thee. | 8 | ········ |
| Perhaps in this the pleasure lies-- | 8 | ˘/···/˘· |
| I read my thoughts within thine eyes. | 8 | ········ |
| And so dare fancy that my art | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| May sink as deeply as thy heart. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Perhaps I love to make my words | 8 | ˘/······ |
| Sing round thee like so many birds, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Or, maybe, they are only sweet | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| As they seem offerings at thy feet. | 9 | ···/˘˘··· |
| Or haply, Lily, when I speak, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| I think, perchance, they touch thy cheek, | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| Or with a yet more precious bliss, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Die on thy red lips in a kiss. | 8 | ········ |
| Each reason here--I cannot tell-- | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Or all perhaps may solve the spell. | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| But if she watch when I am by, | 8 | ········ |
| Lily may deeper see than I. | 8 | /˘·/˘··· |
| I saw, or dreamed I saw, her sitting lone, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Her neck bent like a swan's, her brown eyes thrown | 10 | ·········· |
| On some sweet poem--his, I think, who sings | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Oenone, or the hapless Maud: no rings | 9 | ····/˘··· |
| Flashed from the dainty fingers, which held back | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Her beautiful blonde hair. Ah! would these black | 10 | ·/˘˘······ |
| Locks of mine own were mingling with it now, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| And these warm lips were pressed against her brow! | 10 | ·········· |
| And, as she turned a page, methought I heard-- | 10 | ······˘/·· |
| Hush! could it be?--a faintly murmured word, | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| It was so softly dwelt on--such a smile | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Played on her brow and wreathed her lip the while | 10 | ·········· |
| That my heart leaped to hear it, and a flame | 10 | ·········· |
| Burned on my forehead--Sa'ra!--'t was my name. | 11 | ···/˘/˘···· |
| If I have graced no single song of mine | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| With thy sweet name, they all are full of thee; | 10 | ·········· |
| Thou art my Muse, my "May", my "Madeline": | 10 | ·······/˘˘ |
| But "Julia"!--ah! that gentle name to me | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Is something far too sacred for the throng | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| Of worldly listeners 'round me. Yet ev'n now | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| I weave a chaplet for thy sinless brow;-- | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Wilt thou not wear it? 'T is a fashionable song,-- | 11 | ········/˘· |
| I will not say of what,--but on it I | 10 | ·········· |
| Have wreaked heart, mind, my love, my hopes of fame, | 10 | ·········· |
| Yet after all it hath no nobler aim | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Than thy dear praise. Ere many moons pass by, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| When the lost gem is set, the crown complete, | 10 | ········˘/ |
| I'll lay a poet's tribute at thy feet. | 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.