From the Grave
When the first sere leaves of the year were falling,I heard, with a heart that was strangely thrilled,Out of the grave of a dead Past calling,A voice I fancied forever stilled.
All through winter and spring and summer,Silence hung over that grave like a pall,But, borne on the breath of the last sad comer,I listen again to the old-time call.
It is only a love of a by-gone season,A senseless folly that mocked at meA reckless passion that lacked all reason,So I killed it, and hid it where none could see.
I smothered it first to stop its crying,Then stabbed it through with a good sharp blade,And cold and pallid I saw it lying,And deep--ah' deep was the grave I made.
But now I know that there is no killingA thing like Love, for it laughs at Death.There is no hushing, there is no stillingThat which is part of your life and breath.
You may bury it deep, and leave behind youThe land, the people, that knew your slain;It will push the sods from its grave, and find youOn wastes of water or desert plain.
You may hear but tongues of a foreign people,You may list to sounds that are strange and new;But, clear as a silver bell in a steeple,That voice from the grave shall call to you.
You may rouse your pride, you may use your reason.And seem for a space to slay Love so;But, all in its own good time and season,It will rise and follow wherever you go.
You shall sit sometimes, when the leaves are falling,Alone with your heart, as I sit to-day,And hear that voice from your dead Past callingOut of the graves that you hid away.
Words in this poem
- sere n.
- Claw; talon. Chapman. [F. serre.]
- strangely adv.
- As something foreign, or not one's own; in a manner adapted to something foreign and strange.
- comer n.
- One who comes, or who has come; one who has arrived, and is present. All comers, all who come, or offer, to take part in a matter, especially in a contest or controversy.
- hushing n.
- The process of washing ore, or of uncovering mineral veins, by a heavy discharge of water from a reservoir; flushing; -- also called booming.
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- wherever adv.
- At or in whatever place; wheresoever.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
From the Grave is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems of Passion, Project Gutenberg ebook #16776; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Ella Wheeler Wilcox, From the Grave, in Poems of Passion (1883), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #16776, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/wilcox-passion/from-the-grave.html, id L22165.
Form and metre
From the Grave is 36 lines in 9 stanzas of 4 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, complete in 7 of its 9 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 71%).
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 -A-A falling · thrilledA · calling · stilledA
- 2 ABAB summerA · pallB · comerA · callB
- 3 ABAB seasonA · meB · reasonA · seeB
- 4 ABAB cryingA · bladeB · lyingA · madeB
- 5 ABAB killingA · deathB · stillingA · breathB
- 6 ABAB youA · slainB · youA · plainB
- 7 ABAB peopleA · newB · steepleA · youB
- 8 ABAB reasonA · soB · seasonA · goB
- 9 -A-A falling · dayA · calling · awayA
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 |
|---|---|---|
| When the first sere leaves of the year were falling, | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| I heard, with a heart that was strangely thrilled, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Out of the grave of a dead Past calling, | 10 | ········/˘ |
| A voice I fancied forever stilled. | 10 | ···/˘˘/˘·˘ |
| All through winter and spring and summer, | 9 | ··/˘···/˘ |
| Silence hung over that grave like a pall, | 10 | /˘········ |
| But, borne on the breath of the last sad comer, | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| I listen again to the old-time call. | 10 | ·/˘˘/····· |
| It is only a love of a by-gone season, | 12 | ··/˘······/˘ |
| A senseless folly that mocked at me | 10 | ·/˘/˘··˘·· |
| A reckless passion that lacked all reason, | 10 | ·/˘/˘···/˘ |
| So I killed it, and hid it where none could see. | 11 | ··········· |
| I smothered it first to stop its crying, | 10 | ·/˘·····/˘ |
| Then stabbed it through with a good sharp blade, | 10 | ··˘······· |
| And cold and pallid I saw it lying, | 10 | ···/˘···/˘ |
| And deep--ah' deep was the grave I made. | 9 | ········· |
| But now I know that there is no killing | 10 | ········/˘ |
| A thing like Love, for it laughs at Death. | 9 | ········· |
| There is no hushing, there is no stilling | 10 | ···/˘···/˘ |
| That which is part of your life and breath. | 9 | ········· |
| You may bury it deep, and leave behind you | 11 | ··/˘······· |
| The land, the people, that knew your slain; | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| It will push the sods from its grave, and find you | 11 | ··········· |
| On wastes of water or desert plain. | 9 | ···/˘·˘/· |
| You may hear but tongues of a foreign people, | 11 | ·······/˘/˘ |
| You may list to sounds that are strange and new; | 10 | ·········· |
| But, clear as a silver bell in a steeple, | 11 | ····/˘···/˘ |
| That voice from the grave shall call to you. | 9 | ········· |
| You may rouse your pride, you may use your reason. | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| And seem for a space to slay Love so; | 9 | ········· |
| But, all in its own good time and season, | 10 | ········/˘ |
| It will rise and follow wherever you go. | 11 | ····/˘˘/˘·· |
| You shall sit sometimes, when the leaves are falling, | 11 | ···/·····/˘ |
| Alone with your heart, as I sit to-day, | 10 | ˘/········ |
| And hear that voice from your dead Past calling | 10 | ········/˘ |
| Out of the graves that you hid away. | 9 | ·······˘/ |
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.