Analysis of Sister Songs-An Offering To Two Sisters - Part The First

Francis Thompson 1859 (City of Preston, Lancashire) – 1907 (London)



The leaves dance, the leaves sing,
The leaves dance in the breath of the Spring.
I bid them dance,
I bid them sing,
For the limpid glance
Of my ladyling;
For the gift to the Spring of a dewier spring,
For God's good grace of this ladyling!
I know in the lane, by the hedgerow track,
The long, broad grasses underneath
Are warted with rain like a toad's knobbed back;
But here May weareth a rainless wreath.
In the new-sucked milk of the sun's bosom
Is dabbled the mouth of the daisy-blossom;
The smouldering rosebud chars through its sheath;
The lily stirs her snowy limbs,
Ere she swims
Naked up through her cloven green,
Like the wave-born Lady of Love Hellene;
And the scattered snowdrop exquisite
Twinkles and gleams,
As if the showers of the sunny beams
Were splashed from the earth in drops of light.
Everything
That is child of Spring
Casts its bud or blossoming
Upon the stream of my delight.

Their voices, that scents are, now let them upraise
To Sylvia, O Sylvia, her sweet, feat ways!
Their lovely mother them array,
And prank them out in holiday,
For syllabling to Sylvia;
And all the birds on branches lave their mouths with May,
To bear with me this burthen,
For singing to Sylvia.

While thus I stood in mazes bound
Of vernal sorcery,
I heard a dainty dubious sound,
As of goodly melody;
Which first was faint as if in swound,
Then burst so suddenly
In warring concord all around,
That, whence this thing might be,
To see
The very marrow longed in me!
It seemed of air, it seemed of ground,
And never any witchery
Drawn from pipe, or reed, or string,
Made such dulcet ravishing.
'Twas like no earthly instrument,
Yet had something of them all
In its rise, and in its fall;
As if in one sweet consort there were blent
Those archetypes celestial
Which our endeavouring instruments recall.
So heavenly flutes made murmurous plain
To heavenly viols, that again
- Aching with music--wailed back pain;
Regals release their notes, which rise
Welling, like tears from heart to eyes;
And the harp thrills with thronging sighs.
Horns in mellow flattering
Parley with the cithern-string:-
Hark!--the floating, long-drawn note
Woos the throbbing cithern-string!

Their pretty, pretty prating those citherns sure upraise
For homage unto Sylvia, her sweet, feat ways:
Those flutes do flute their vowelled lay,
Their lovely languid language say,
For lisping to Sylvia;
Those viols' lissom bowings break the heart of May,
And harps harp their burthen,
For singing to Sylvia.

Now at that music and that mirth
Rose, as 'twere, veils from earth;
And I spied
How beside
Bud, bell, bloom, an elf
Stood, or was the flower itself
'Mid radiant air
All the fair
Frequence swayed in irised wavers.
Some against the gleaming rims
Their bosoms prest
Of the kingcups, to the brims
Filled with sun, and their white limbs
Bathed in those golden lavers;
Some on the brown, glowing breast
Of that Indian maid, the pansy,
(Through its tenuous veils confest
Of swathing light), in a quaint fancy
Tied her knot of yellow favours;
Others dared open draw
Snapdragon's dreadful jaw:
Some, just sprung from out the soil,
Sleeked and shook their rumpled fans
Dropt with sheen
Of moony green;
Others, not yet extricate,
On their hands leaned their weight,
And writhed them free with mickle toil,
Still folded in their veiny vans:
And all with an unsought accord
Sang together from the sward;
Whence had come, and from sprites
Yet unseen, those delights,
As of tempered musics blent,
Which had given me such content.
For haply our best instrument,
Pipe or cithern, stopped or strung,
Mimics but some spirit tongue.

Their amiable voices, I bid them upraise
To Sylvia, O Sylvia, her sweet, feat ways;
Their lovesome labours laid away,
To linger out this holiday
In syllabling to Sylvia;
While all the birds on branches lave their mouths with May,
To bear with me this burthen,
For singing to Sylvia.

Next I saw, wonder-whist,
How from the atmosphere a mist,
So it seemed, slow uprist;
And, looking from those elfin swarms,
I was 'ware
How the air
Was all populous with forms
Of the Hours, floating down,
Like Nereids through a watery town.
Some, with languors of waved arms,
Fluctuous oared their flexile way;
Some were borne half resupine
On the aerial hyaline,
Their fluid limbs and rare arra


Scheme aababaaacdcdeedffgghiijaaaj bKllmlGM nonohonooonlaapqqhxqrxrsssaaxa bkllmlgM ttuuvvwwbfxbfxxohobyyz1 gg2 2 z1 3 3 bxhXp4 4 bkllmlgm hxh5 ww5 6 6 xlggl
Poetic Form
Metre 011011 011001101 1111 1111 1011 111 1011011011 1111111 110011011 0111001 111110111 1111011 0011110110 11001101010 01101111 01010101 111 1011011 101110111 00101100 1001 1101010101 011010111 10 11111 1111100 01011101 1101111111 110011000111 11010101 0111010 111100 010111011111 111111 1101100 11110101 110100 110101001 1110100 11111101 111100 0101101 111111 11 01010101 11111111 010101 1111111 1110100 11110100 1110111 0110011 1101101101 110010 11011001 11001111 11001101 10110111 1011111 10111111 0011111 1010100 101011 1010111 101011 1101011111 110101000111 1111111 11010101 111100 111110111 01111 1101100 11110011 111111 011 101 11111 11101001 11001 101 11011 1010101 111 101101 1110111 1011010 1101101 111001010 1110011 11100110 1011101 101101 1101 1111101 1011101 111 111 101110 111111 01111101 1100111 0111101 1010101 111011 101101 1110101 11101110 11101100 111111 1011101 11000101111 110011000111 111101 1101110 011100 110111011111 111111 1101100 111101 1101001 11111 01011101 111 101 1110011 1010101 11101001 111111 11111 10111 101001 1101011
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 4,136
Words 745
Sentences 23
Stanzas 7
Stanza Lengths 27, 8, 30, 8, 38, 8, 14
Lines Amount 133
Letters per line (avg) 25
Words per line (avg) 6
Letters per stanza (avg) 481
Words per stanza (avg) 106
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

3:44 min read
126

Francis Thompson

The Rt Rev Francis William Banahene Thompson was Bishop of Accra from 1983 to 1996. more…

All Francis Thompson poems | Francis Thompson Books

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