The After-Echo

Henry Van Dyke (1852–1933) · 1925

iambic pentameter · 24 lines · from The Poems of Henry Van Dyke

How long the echoes love to playAround the shore of silence, as a waveRetreating circles down the sand!One after one, with sweet delay,The mellow sounds that cliff and island gave,Have lingered in the crescent bay,Until, by lightest breezes fanned,They float far off beyond the dying dayAnd leave it still as death.But hark,--Another singing breathComes from the edge of dark;A note as clear and slowAs falls from some enchanted bell,Or spirit, passing from the world below,That whispers back, Farewell.

So in the heart,When, fading slowly down the past,Fond memories depart,And each that leaves it seems the last;Long after all the rest are flown,Returns a solitary tone,--The after-echo of departed years,--And touches all the soul to tears.

Words in this poem

enchanted a.
Under the power of enchantment; possessed or exercised by enchanters; as, an enchanted castle.
fading n.
An Irish dance; also, the burden of a song.
depart v. i.
To part; to divide; to separate. [OE. departen to divide, part, depart, F. départir to divide, distribute, se départir to separate one's self, depart; pref. dé- (L. de) + partir to part, depart,]
flown a.
Flushed, inflated.

Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.

About this text

The After-Echo 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, The After-Echo, in The Poems of Henry Van Dyke (1925), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #16229, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/van-dyke-poems/the-after-echo.html, id L22745.

Form and metre

The After-Echo is 24 lines in 2 stanzas. This poem did not settle on a metre of its own; the book it comes from is in iambic pentameter.

See 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. 1 ABCABACADEDEFGFG playA · waveB · sandC · delayA · gaveB · bayA · fannedC · dayA · deathD · harkE · breathD · darkE · slowF · bellG · belowF · farewellG
  2. 2 ABABCCDD heartA · pastB · departA · lastB · flownC · toneC · yearsD · tearsD
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.

LineSyl.Stress
How long the echoes love to play8···/˘···
Around the shore of silence, as a wave10·····/˘···
Retreating circles down the sand!8˘/˘/˘···
One after one, with sweet delay,8······˘/
The mellow sounds that cliff and island gave,10·/˘····/˘·
Have lingered in the crescent bay,8·/˘··/˘·
Until, by lightest breezes fanned,8···/˘/˘·
They float far off beyond the dying day10·······/˘·
And leave it still as death.6······
But hark,--2··
Another singing breath6˘/˘/˘·
Comes from the edge of dark;6······
A note as clear and slow6······
As falls from some enchanted bell,8····˘/˘·
Or spirit, passing from the world below,10·/˘/˘·····
That whispers back, Farewell.6·/˘··/
So in the heart,4····
When, fading slowly down the past,8·/˘/˘···
Fond memories depart,6·/˘˘˘/
And each that leaves it seems the last;8········
Long after all the rest are flown,8········
Returns a solitary tone,--8˘/·/˘·˘·
The after-echo of departed years,--10···/˘·˘/˘·
And touches all the soul to tears.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.

More by Henry Van Dyke