How Spring Comes to Shasta Jim
I never seen no "red gods"; I dunno wot's a "lure";But if it's sumpin' takin', then Spring has got it sure;An' it doesn't need no Kiplins, ner yet no London Jacks,To make up guff about it, w'ile settin' in their shacks.
It's sumpin' very simple 'at happens in the Spring,But it changes all the lookin's of every blessed thing;The buddin' woods look bigger, the mounting twice as high,But the house looks kindo smaller, tho I couldn't tell ye why.
It's cur'ous wot a show-down the month of April makes,Between the reely livin', an' the things 'at's only fakes!Machines an' barns an' buildin's, they never give no sign;But the livin' things look lively w'en Spring is on the line.
She doesn't come too suddin, ner she doesn't come too slow;Her gaits is some cayprishus, an' the next ye never know,--A single-foot o' sunshine, a buck o' snow er hail,--But don't be disapp'inted, fer Spring ain't goin' ter fail.
She's loopin' down the hillside,--the driffs is fadin' out.She's runnin' down the river,--d'ye see them risin' trout?She's loafin' down the canyon,--the squaw-bed's growin' blue,An' the teeny Johnny-jump-ups is jest a-peekin' thru.
A thousan' miles o' pine-trees, with Douglas firs between,Is waitin' fer her fingers to freshen up their green;With little tips o' brightness the firs 'ill sparkle thick,An' every yaller pine-tree, a giant candle-stick!
The underbrush is risin' an' spreadin' all around,Jest like a mist o' greenness 'at hangs above the ground;A million manzanitas 'ill soon be full o' pink;So saddle up, my sonny,--it's time to ride, I think!
We'll ford er swim the river, becos there ain't no bridge;We'll foot the gulches careful, an' lope along the ridge;We'll take the trail to Nowhere, an' travel till we tire,An' camp beneath a pine-tree, an' sleep beside the fire.
We'll see the blue-quail chickens, an' hear 'em pipin' clear;An' p'raps we'll sight a brown-bear, er else a bunch o' deer;But nary a heathen goddess or god 'ill meet our eyes;For why? There isn't any! They're jest a pack o' lies!
Oh, wot's the use o' "red gods," an' "Pan," an' all that stuff?The natcheral facts o' Springtime is wonderful enuff!An' if there's Someone made 'em, I guess He understood,To be alive in Springtime would make a man feel good.
Words in this poem
- bigger a.
- , compar. of Big.
- sunshine n.
- The light of the sun, or the place where it shines; the direct rays of the sun, the place where they fall, or the warmth and light which they give.
- canyon n.
- The English form of the Spanish word Cañon.
- teeny a.
- Very small; tiny.
- jest n.
- A deed; an action; a gest. [OE. jeste, geste, deed, action, story, tale, OF. geste, LL. gesta, orig., exploits, neut. pl. from L. gestus, p. p. of gerere to bear, carry, accomplish, perfor]
- freshen v. t.
- To make fresh; to separate, as water, from saline ingredients; to make less salt; as, to freshen water, fish, or flesh.
- underbrush n.
- Shrubs, small trees, and the like, in a wood or forest, growing beneath large trees; undergrowth.
- lope v. i.
- To leap; to dance. [See Leap.]
- nowhere adv.
- Not anywhere; not in any place or state; as, the book is nowhere to be found. [AS. nahwær. See No, and Where.]
- springtime n.
- The season of spring; springtide.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
How Spring Comes to Shasta Jim is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poems of Henry Van Dyke, Project Gutenberg ebook #16229; 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 Van Dyke, How Spring Comes to Shasta Jim, in The Poems of Henry Van Dyke (1925), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #16229, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/van-dyke-poems/how-spring-comes-to-shasta-jim.html, id L23002.
Form and metre
How Spring Comes to Shasta Jim is 40 lines in 10 stanzas of 4 lines each. Every stanza rhymes AABB. The metre is alexandrines, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 76%).
See other poems in alexandrines.
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 AABB lureA · sureA · jacksB · shacksB
- 2 AABB springA · thingA · highB · whyB
- 3 AABB makesA · fakesA · signB · lineB
- 4 AABB slowA · knowA · hailB · failB
- 5 AABB outA · troutA · blueB · thruB
- 6 AABB betweenA · greenA · thickB · stickB
- 7 AABB aroundA · groundA · pinkB · thinkB
- 8 AABB bridgeA · ridgeA · tireB · fireB
- 9 AABB clearA · deerA · eyesB · liesB
- 10 AABB stuffA · enuffA · understoodB · goodB
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 alexandrines. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| I never seen no "red gods"; I dunno wot's a "lure"; | 13 | ·/˘·····˘/··· |
| But if it's sumpin' takin', then Spring has got it sure; | 13 | ·····/˘······ |
| An' it doesn't need no Kiplins, ner yet no London Jacks, | 14 | ··/˘·······/˘· |
| To make up guff about it, w'ile settin' in their shacks. | 13 | ············· |
| It's sumpin' very simple 'at happens in the Spring, | 13 | ···/˘/˘·/˘··· |
| But it changes all the lookin's of every blessed thing; | 13 | ··/˘··/˘·/˘·· |
| The buddin' woods look bigger, the mounting twice as high, | 13 | ·/˘··/˘·/˘··· |
| But the house looks kindo smaller, tho I couldn't tell ye why. | 15 | ······/˘··/˘··· |
| It's cur'ous wot a show-down the month of April makes, | 13 | ··········/˘· |
| Between the reely livin', an' the things 'at's only fakes! | 14 | ·····/˘····/˘· |
| Machines an' barns an' buildin's, they never give no sign; | 13 | ˘/······/˘··· |
| But the livin' things look lively w'en Spring is on the line. | 14 | ··/˘··/˘······ |
| She doesn't come too suddin, ner she doesn't come too slow; | 14 | ·/˘······/˘··· |
| Her gaits is some cayprishus, an' the next ye never know,-- | 13 | ···········/· |
| A single-foot o' sunshine, a buck o' snow er hail,-- | 13 | ·/˘··/······· |
| But don't be disapp'inted, fer Spring ain't goin' ter fail. | 14 | ··········/˘·· |
| She's loopin' down the hillside,--the driffs is fadin' out. | 13 | ·····/······· |
| She's runnin' down the river,--d'ye see them risin' trout? | 13 | ·/˘··/˘···/˘· |
| She's loafin' down the canyon,--the squaw-bed's growin' blue, | 13 | ·····/˘······ |
| An' the teeny Johnny-jump-ups is jest a-peekin' thru. | 14 | ··/˘/˘········ |
| A thousan' miles o' pine-trees, with Douglas firs between, | 13 | ········/˘··· |
| Is waitin' fer her fingers to freshen up their green; | 13 | ·/˘··/˘·/˘··· |
| With little tips o' brightness the firs 'ill sparkle thick, | 13 | ·/˘··/˘···/˘· |
| An' every yaller pine-tree, a giant candle-stick! | 13 | ·/˘·····/˘/˘· |
| The underbrush is risin' an' spreadin' all around, | 13 | ·/˘··/˘······ |
| Jest like a mist o' greenness 'at hangs above the ground; | 13 | ·····/˘······ |
| A million manzanitas 'ill soon be full o' pink; | 13 | ·/˘·········· |
| So saddle up, my sonny,--it's time to ride, I think! | 13 | ·/˘··/˘······ |
| We'll ford er swim the river, becos there ain't no bridge; | 13 | ·····/˘/˘···· |
| We'll foot the gulches careful, an' lope along the ridge; | 13 | ···/˘/˘··˘/·· |
| We'll take the trail to Nowhere, an' travel till we tire, | 14 | ·····/··/˘··/˘ |
| An' camp beneath a pine-tree, an' sleep beside the fire. | 14 | ·········˘/·/˘ |
| We'll see the blue-quail chickens, an' hear 'em pipin' clear; | 13 | ·····/˘······ |
| An' p'raps we'll sight a brown-bear, er else a bunch o' deer; | 13 | ············· |
| But nary a heathen goddess or god 'ill meet our eyes; | 14 | ·/˘·/˘/˘····/· |
| For why? There isn't any! They're jest a pack o' lies! | 13 | ···/˘/˘······ |
| Oh, wot's the use o' "red gods," an' "Pan," an' all that stuff? | 13 | ············· |
| The natcheral facts o' Springtime is wonderful enuff! | 13 | ······/··/˘·· |
| An' if there's Someone made 'em, I guess He understood, | 13 | ···/·······˘/ |
| To be alive in Springtime would make a man feel good. | 13 | ··˘/·/······· |
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.