At Penshurst
While in this park I sing, the list'ning deerAttend my passion, and forget to fear;When to the beeches I report my flame,They bow their heads, as if they felt the same.To gods appealing, when I reach their bowersWith loud complaints, they answer me in showers.To thee a wild and cruel soul is given,More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heaven!Love's foe profess'd! why dost thou falsely feignThyself a Sidney? from which noble strainHe sprung, that could so far exalt the nameOf love, and warm our nation with his flame;That all we can of love, or high desire,Seems but the smoke of am'rous Sidney's fire.Nor call her mother, who so well does proveOne breast may hold both chastity and love.Never can she, that so exceeds the springIn joy and bounty, be supposed to bringOne so destructive. To no human stockWe owe this fierce unkindness, but the rock,That cloven rock produced thee, by whose sideNature, to recompense the fatal prideOf such stern beauty, placed those healing springs,Which not more help, than that destruction, brings.Thy heart no ruder than the rugged stone,I might, like Orpheus, with my num'rous moanMelt to compassion; now, my trait'rous songWith thee conspires to do the singer wrong;While thus I suffer not myself to loseThe memory of what augments my woes;But with my own breath still foment the fire,Which flames as high as fancy can aspire!
This last complaint th'indulgent ears did pierceOf just Apollo, president of verse;Highly concerned that the Muse should bringDamage to one whom he had taught to sing,Thus he advised me: 'On yon aged treeHang up thy lute, and hie thee to the sea,That there with wonders thy diverted mindSome truce, at least, may with this passion find.'Ah, cruel nymph! from whom her humble swainFlies for relief unto the raging main,And from the winds and tempests does expectA milder fate than from her cold neglect!Yet there he'll pray that the unkind may proveBless'd in her choice; and vows this endless loveSprings from no hope of what she can confer,But from those gifts which Heaven has heap'd on her.
'Penshurst': his farewell verses to Dorothy.'Sprung': Sir Philip Sidney.'Springs': Tunbridge Wells.
Words in this poem
- appealing a.
- That appeals; imploring.
- bounty n.
- Goodness, kindness; virtue; worth. [OE. bounte goodness, kindness, F. bonté, fr. L. bonitas, fr. bonus good, for older duonus; cf. Skr. duvas honor, respect.]
- orpheus n.
- The famous mythic Thracian poet, son of the Muse Calliope, and husband of Eurydice. He is reputed to have had power to entrance beasts and inanimate objects by the music of his lyre.
- foment v. t.
- To apply a warm lotion to; to bathe with a cloth or sponge wet with warm water or medicated liquid. [F. fomenter, fr. L. fomentare, fr. fomentum (for fovimentum) a warm application or lotion, fr. fovere to warm or keep warm; perh. akin to Gr. bake.]
- aspire v. t.
- To aspire to; to long for; to try to reach; to mount to.
- expect v. t.
- To wait for; to await. [L. expectatum, to look out for, await, expect; ex + out spectare to look at. See Spectacle.]
- unkind a.
- Having no race or kindred; childless. [See Kin kindred.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
At Penshurst is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham, Project Gutenberg ebook #12322; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Edmund Waller, At Penshurst, in Poetical Works (1645–1668), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #12322, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/waller-denham/at-penshurst-2.html, id L09030.
Form and metre
At Penshurst is 51 lines in 3 verse paragraphs. It is in rhyming couplets, 82% of the lines: heroic couplets. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 89%). 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 10.0 syllables. 9 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 43% 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 AABBCCDDDDEEFFGGHHIIJJKKLLMM---- deerA · fearA · flameB · sameB · bowersC · showersC · givenD · heavenD · feignD · strainD · nameE · flameE · desireF · fireF · proveG · loveG · springH · bringH · stockI · rockI · sideJ · prideJ · springsK · bringsK · stoneL · moanL · songM · wrongM · lose · woes · fire · aspire
- 2 --AABBCCDDEEFFGG pierce · verse · bringA · singA · treeB · seaB · mindC · findC · swainD · mainD · expectE · neglectE · proveF · loveF · conferG · herG
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 |
|---|---|---|
| While in this park I sing, the list'ning deer | 10 | ·········· |
| Attend my passion, and forget to fear; | 10 | ˘/·/˘·˘/·· |
| When to the beeches I report my flame, | 10 | ···/˘·˘/·· |
| They bow their heads, as if they felt the same. | 10 | ·········· |
| To gods appealing, when I reach their bowers | 11 | ··˘/˘····/˘ |
| With loud complaints, they answer me in showers. | 11 | ··˘/·/˘··/˘ |
| To thee a wild and cruel soul is given, | 11 | ·····/˘··/˘ |
| More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heaven! | 11 | ·····/˘··/˘ |
| Love's foe profess'd! why dost thou falsely feign | 10 | ··˘/···/˘· |
| Thyself a Sidney? from which noble strain | 10 | ˘/·/˘··/˘· |
| He sprung, that could so far exalt the name | 10 | ······˘/·· |
| Of love, and warm our nation with his flame; | 10 | ····//˘··· |
| That all we can of love, or high desire, | 11 | ········˘/˘ |
| Seems but the smoke of am'rous Sidney's fire. | 11 | ·······/˘/˘ |
| Nor call her mother, who so well does prove | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| One breast may hold both chastity and love. | 10 | ·····/˘˘·· |
| Never can she, that so exceeds the spring | 10 | /˘····˘/·· |
| In joy and bounty, be supposed to bring | 10 | ···/˘·˘/·· |
| One so destructive. To no human stock | 10 | ··˘/˘··/˘· |
| We owe this fierce unkindness, but the rock, | 10 | ·········· |
| That cloven rock produced thee, by whose side | 10 | ·/˘·˘/···· |
| Nature, to recompense the fatal pride | 10 | /˘·/˘··/˘· |
| Of such stern beauty, placed those healing springs, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Which not more help, than that destruction, brings. | 10 | ······˘/˘· |
| Thy heart no ruder than the rugged stone, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| I might, like Orpheus, with my num'rous moan | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Melt to compassion; now, my trait'rous song | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| With thee conspires to do the singer wrong; | 10 | ··˘/···/˘· |
| While thus I suffer not myself to lose | 10 | ···/˘··/·· |
| The memory of what augments my woes; | 10 | ·/˘˘··˘/·· |
| But with my own breath still foment the fire, | 11 | ······/˘·/˘ |
| Which flames as high as fancy can aspire! | 10 | ·····/˘·˘/ |
| This last complaint th'indulgent ears did pierce | 10 | ··˘/······ |
| Of just Apollo, president of verse; | 10 | ··˘/˘/˘··· |
| Highly concerned that the Muse should bring | 10 | /˘˘/˘····· |
| Damage to one whom he had taught to sing, | 10 | /˘········ |
| Thus he advised me: 'On yon aged tree | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| Hang up thy lute, and hie thee to the sea, | 10 | ·········· |
| That there with wonders thy diverted mind | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘· |
| Some truce, at least, may with this passion find.' | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Ah, cruel nymph! from whom her humble swain | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Flies for relief unto the raging main, | 10 | ··˘/···/˘· |
| And from the winds and tempests does expect | 10 | ·····/˘·˘/ |
| A milder fate than from her cold neglect! | 10 | ·/˘·····˘/ |
| Yet there he'll pray that the unkind may prove | 10 | ······˘/·· |
| Bless'd in her choice; and vows this endless love | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Springs from no hope of what she can confer, | 10 | ········˘/ |
| But from those gifts which Heaven has heap'd on her. | 10 | ·····/···· |
| 'Penshurst': his farewell verses to Dorothy. | 11 | ····//˘·/˘˘ |
| 'Sprung': Sir Philip Sidney. | 6 | ··/˘/˘ |
| 'Springs': Tunbridge Wells. | 4 | ···· |
Notes from the edition 2
George Gilfillan's notes to the Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham (1857; Project Gutenberg #12322).
- Stanza 1, line 11 'Sprung': Sir Philip Sidney.
- Stanza 1, line 23 'Springs': Tunbridge Wells.
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.