Analysis of Quia Multum Amavit
Algernon Charles Swinburne 1837 (London) – 1909 (London)
Am I not he that hath made thee and begotten thee,
I, God, the spirit of man?
Wherefore now these eighteen years hast thou forgotten me,
From whom thy life began?
Thy life-blood and thy life-breath and thy beauty,
Thy might of hands and feet,
Thy soul made strong for divinity of duty
And service which was sweet.
Through the red sea brimmed with blood didst thou not follow me,
As one that walks in trance?
Was the storm strong to break or the sea to swallow thee,
When thou wast free and France?
I am Freedom, God and man, O France, that plead with thee;
How long now shall I plead?
Was I not with thee in travail, and in need with thee,
Thy sore travail and need?
Thou wast fairest and first of my virgin-vested daughters,
Fairest and foremost thou;
And thy breast was white, though thy hands were red with slaughters,
Thy breast, a harlot's now.
O foolish virgin and fair among the fallen,
A ruin where satyrs dance,
A garden wasted for beasts to crawl and brawl in,
What hast thou done with France?
Where is she who bared her bosom but to thunder,
Her brow to storm and flame,
And before her face was the red sea cloven in sunder
And all its waves made tame?
And the surf wherein the broad-based rocks were shaking
She saw far off divide,
At the blast of the breath of the battle blown and breaking,
And weight of wind and tide;
And the ravin and the ruin of throned nations
And every royal race,
And the kingdoms and kings from the state of their high stations
That fell before her face.
Yea, great was the fall of them, all that rose against her,
From the earth's old-historied heights;
For my hands were fire, and my wings as walls that fenced her,
Mine eyes as pilot-lights.
Not as guerdons given of kings the gifts I brought her,
Not strengths that pass away;
But my heart, my breath of life, O France, O daughter,
I gave thee in that day.
Yea, the heart's blood of a very God I gave thee,
Breathed in thy mouth his breath;
Was my word as a man's, having no more strength to save thee
From this worse thing than death?
Didst thou dream of it only, the day that I stood nigh thee,
Was all its light a dream?
When that iron surf roared backwards and went by thee
Unscathed of storm or stream:
When thy sons rose up and thy young men stood together,
One equal face of fight,
And my flag swam high as the swimming sea-foam's feather,
Laughing, a lamp of light?
Ah the lordly laughter and light of it, that lightened
Heaven-high, the heaven's whole length!
Ah the hearts of heroes pierced, the bright lips whitened
Of strong men in their strength!
Ah the banner-poles, the stretch of straightening streamers
Straining their full reach out!
Ah the men's hands making true the dreams of dreamers,
The hopes brought forth in doubt!
Ah the noise of horse, the charge and thunder of drumming,
And swaying and sweep of swords!
Ah the light that led them through of the world's life coming,
Clear of its lies and lords!
By the lightning of the lips of guns whose flashes
Made plain the strayed world's way;
By the flame that left her dead old sins in ashes,
Swept out of sight of day;
By thy children whose bare feet were shod with thunder,
Their bare hands mailed with fire;
By the faith that went with them, waking fear and wonder,
Heart's love and high desire;
By the tumult of the waves of nations waking
Blind in the loud wide night;
By the wind that went on the world's waste waters, making
Their marble darkness white,
As the flash of the flakes of the foam flared lamplike, leaping
From wave to gladdening wave,
Making wide the fast-shut eyes of thraldom sleeping
The sleep of the unclean grave;
By the fire of equality, terrible, devouring,
Divine, that brought forth good;
By the lands it purged and wasted and left flowering
With bloom of brotherhood;
By the lips of fraternity that for love's sake uttered
Fierce words and fires of death,
But the eyes were deep as love's, and the fierce lips fluttered
With love's own living breath;
By thy weaponed hands, brows helmed, and bare feet spurning
The bared head of a king;
By the storm of sunrise round thee risen and burning,
Why hast thou done this thing?
Thou hast mixed thy limbs with the son of a harlot, a stranger,
Mouth to mouth, limb to limb,
Thou, bride of a God, because of the bridesman Danger,
Scheme ABABACACADADAEAEFGFGHDIDJKJKLMLMNONOJPJPJQJQARARASASJTJTUVCVFWFWLXLXYQZQJJJJLTLTL1 L1 L2 L2 3 R3 RLLLLJ4 A Poetic Form Metre 1111111100101 1101011 111011110101 111101 11101110110 111101 111110100110 010111 1011111111101 111101 1011111011101 111101 1110101111111 111111 1111100100111 110101 11100111101010 10011 0111111101110 11011 110100101010 010111 010101111010 111111 111110101110 011101 0010110111010 011111 001010111010 111101 10110110101010 011101 001000101110 0100101 00100110111110 110101 1110111111010 101111 11101001111110 111101 111101101110 111101 111111111110 111011 101110101111 101111 11110110111111 111111 11111100111111 111101 111011100111 011111 1111101111010 110111 0111110101110 100111 101100111110 10101011 10111010111 111011 1010101110010 101111 101110101110 011101 1011101010110 0100111 1011111101110 111101 101010111110 110111 101110111010 111111 111011101110 1111110 1011111101010 1101010 101010111010 100111 1011110111010 110101 1011011011110 11111 10101111110 0110011 1010101001000100 011111 1011101001100 11110 10110100111110 1101011 1010111001110 111101 11111101110 011101 101111110010 111111 111111011010010 111111 1110101101101 Closest metre Iambic pentameter Characters 4,412 Words 793 Sentences 24 Stanzas 1 Stanza Lengths 99 Lines Amount 99 Letters per line (avg) 34 Words per line (avg) 8 Letters per stanza (avg) 3,333 Words per stanza (avg) 792 Font size:Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 09, 2023
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"Quia Multum Amavit" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/1385/quia-multum-amavit>.
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