Analysis of Phantasies

Emma Lazarus 1849 (New York City) – 1887 (New York City)



Rest, beauty, stillness: not a waif of a cloud
From gray-blue east sheer to the yellow west-
No film of mist the utmost slopes to shroud.

The earth lies grace, by quiet airs caressed,
And shepherdeth her shadows, but each stream,
Free to the sky, is by that glow possessed,
And traileth with the splendors of a dream
Athwart the dusky land. Uplift thine eyes!
Unbroken by a vapor or a gleam,

The vast clear reach of mild, wan twilight skies.
But look again, and lo, the evening star!
Against the pale tints black the slim elms rise,

The earth exhales sweet odors nigh and far,
And from the heavens fine influences fall.
Familiar things stand not for what they are:

What they suggest, foreshadow, or recall
The spirit is alert to apprehend,
Imparting somewhat of herself to all.

Labor and thought and care are at an end:
The soul is filled with gracious reveries,
And with her mood soft sounds and colors blend;

For simplest sounds ring forth like melodies
In this weird-lighted air-the monotone
Of some far bell, the distant farmyard cries,

A barking dog, the thin, persistent drone
Of crickets, and the lessening call of birds.
The apparition of yon star alone

Breaks on the sense like music. Beyond word
The peace that floods the soul, for night is here,
And Beauty still is guide and harbinger.

Dark lies the earth, and bright with worlds the sky:
That soft, large, lustrous star, that first outshone,
Still holds us spelled with potent sorcery.

Dilating, shrinking, lightening, it hath won
Our spirit with its strange strong influence,
And sways it as the tides beneath the moon.

What impulse this, o'ermastering heart and sense?
Exalted, thrilled, the freed soul fain would soar
Unto that point of shining prominence,

Craving new fields and some unheard-of shore,
Yea, all the heavens, for her activity,
To mount with daring flight, to hover o'er

Low hills of earth, flat meadows, level sea,
And earthly joy and trouble. In this hour
Of waning light and sound, of mystery,

Of shadowed love and beauty-veiled power,
She feels her wings: she yearns to grasp her own,
Knowing the utmost good to be her dower.

A dream! a dream! for at a touch 't is gone.
O mocking spirit! thy mere fools are we,
Unto the depths from heights celestial thrown.

From these blind gropings toward reality,
This thirst for truth, this most pathetic need
Of something to uplift, to justify,

To help and comfort while we faint and bleed,
May we not draw, wrung from the last despair,
Some argument of hope, some blessed creed,

That we can trust the faith which whispers prayer,
The vanishings, the ecstasy, the gleam,
The nameless aspiration, and the dream?

Deep languor overcometh mind and frame:
A listless, drowsy, utter weariness,
A trance wherein no thought finds speech or name,

The overstrained spirit doth possess.
She sinks with drooping wing-poor unfledged bird,
That fain had flown!-in fluttering breathlessness.

To what end those high hopes that wildly stirred
The beating heart with aspirations vain?
Why proffer prayers unanswered and unheard

To blank, deaf heavens that will not heed her pain?
Where lead these lofty, soaring tendencies,
That leap and fly and poise, to fall again,

Yet seem to link her with the utmost skies?
What mean these clinging loves that bind to earth,
And claim her with beseeching, wistful eyes?

This little resting-place 'twixt death and birth,
Why is it fretted with the ceaseless flow
Of flood and ebb, with overgrowth and dearth,

And vext with dreams, and clouded with strange woe?
Ah! she is tired of thought, she yearns for peace,
Seeing all things one equal end must know.

Wherefore this tangle of perplexities,
The trouble or the joy? the weary maze
Of narrow fears and hopes that may not cease?

A chill falls on her from the skyey ways,
Black with the night-tide, where is none to hear
The ancient cry, the Wherefore of our days.

The ceaseless whirr of crickets fills the ear
From underneath each hedge and bush and tree,
Deep in the dew-drenched grasses everywhere.

The simple sound dispels the fantasy
Of gloom and terror gathering round the mind.
It seems a pleasant thing to breathe, to be,

To hear the many-voiced, soft summer wind
Lisp through the dark thick leafage overhead-
To see the rosy


Scheme ABA BCBCDC DED EFE FGF GHG HID IXI JKL MIN XOX XPO PNL NLN LIX XNI NQM QRQ RCC SXS XJD JTJ THX DUD UVU VWV DXW XKX KNR NYN YXN
Poetic Form
Metre 11010101101 1111110101 111101111 0111110101 0101111 1101111101 01101101 010111011 0101010101 011111111 1101010101 0101110111 011110101 0101011001 0101111111 110101011 010101101 0101110111 1001011111 0111110100 0101110101 1101111100 011101010 111101011 0101010101 11000100111 001011101 1101110011 0111011111 0101110100 1101011101 1111011101 1111110100 110100111 10101111100 0111010101 11011101 0101011111 1011110100 1011010111 11010100100 11110111010 111111101 01010100110 1101011100 1101010110 1101111101 100111101 01011101111 1101011111 1001110101 11110110 1111110101 110110110 1101011101 1111110101 110011111 1111011101 01010001 010010001 111101 0101010100 0101111111 0110101 111101111 111101001 1111111101 010110101 110110001 11110111101 1111010100 1101011101 111101011 1111011111 0101010101 1101011101 1111010101 1101110001 0111010111 11110111111 1011110111 111011 0101010101 1101011111 011101011 1101111111 0101011101 0101110101 101110101 100111010 0101010100 11010100101 1101011111 1101011101 110111101 11010
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 4,184
Words 738
Sentences 45
Stanzas 31
Stanza Lengths 3, 6, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3
Lines Amount 96
Letters per line (avg) 35
Words per line (avg) 8
Letters per stanza (avg) 108
Words per stanza (avg) 24
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 13, 2023

3:42 min read
101

Emma Lazarus

Emma Lazarus was a poet born in New York City. more…

All Emma Lazarus poems | Emma Lazarus Books

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