Analysis of The Hound of Heaven

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



I fled Him down the nights and down the days
I fled Him down the arches of the years
I fled Him down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind, and in the midst of tears
I hid from him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped and shot precipitated
Adown titanic glooms of chasme d hears
From those strong feet that followed, followed after
But with unhurrying chase and unperturbe d pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat, and a Voice beat,
More instant than the feet:
All things betray thee who betrayest me.

I pleaded, outlaw--wise by many a hearted casement,
curtained red, trellised with inter-twining charities,
For though I knew His love who followe d,
Yet was I sore adread, lest having Him,
I should have nought beside.
But if one little casement parted wide,
The gust of his approach would clash it to.
Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue.
Across the margent of the world I fled,
And troubled the gold gateways of the stars,
Smiting for shelter on their clange d bars,
Fretted to dulcet jars and silvern chatter
The pale ports of the moon.

I said to Dawn --- be sudden, to Eve --- be soon,
With thy young skiey blossoms heap me over
From this tremendous Lover.
Float thy vague veil about me lest He see.
I tempted all His servitors but to find
My own betrayal in their constancy,
In faith to Him, their fickleness to me,
Their traitorous trueness and their loyal deceit.
To all swift things for swiftness did I sue,
Clung to the whistling mane of every wind,
But whether they swept, smoothly fleet,
The long savannahs of the blue,
Or whether, thunder-driven,
They clanged His chariot thwart a heaven,
Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn of their feet,
Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue.
Still with unhurrying chase and unperturbed pace
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
Came on the following feet, and a Voice above their beat:
Nought shelters thee who wilt not shelter Me.

I sought no more that after which I strayed
In face of Man or Maid.
But still within the little childrens' eyes
Seems something, something that replies,
They at least are for me, surely for me.
But just as their young eyes grew sudden fair,
With dawning answers there,
Their angel plucked them from me by the hair.
Come then, ye other children, Nature's
Share with me, said I, your delicate fellowship.
Let me greet you lip to lip,
Let me twine with you caresses,
Wantoning with our Lady Mother's vagrant tresses,
Banqueting with her in her wind walled palace,
Underneath her azured dai:s,
Quaffing, as your taintless way is,
From a chalice, lucent weeping out of the dayspring.

So it was done.
I in their delicate fellowship was one.
Drew the bolt of Nature's secrecies,
I knew all the swift importings on the wilful face of skies,
I knew how the clouds arise,
Spume d of the wild sea-snortings.
All that's born or dies,
Rose and drooped with,
Made them shapers of mine own moods, or wailful, or Divine.
With them joyed and was bereaven.
I was heavy with the Even,
when she lit her glimmering tapers round the day's dead sanctities.
I laughed in the morning's eyes.
I triumphed and I saddened with all weather,
Heaven and I wept together,
and its sweet tears were salt with mortal mine.
Against the red throb of its sunset heart,
I laid my own to beat
And share commingling heat.

But not by that, by that was eased my human smart.
In vain my tears were wet on Heaven's grey cheek.
For ah! we know what each other says,
these things and I; In sound I speak,
Their sound is but their stir, they speak by silences.
Nature, poor step-dame, cannot slake my drouth.
Let her, if she would owe me
Drop yon blue-bosomed veil of sky
And show me the breasts o' her tenderness.
Never did any milk of hers once bless my thirsting mouth.
Nigh and nigh draws the chase, with unperturbe d pace
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
And past those noise d feet, a Voice comes yet more fleet:
Lo, nought contentst thee who content'st nought Me.

Naked, I wait thy Love's uplifted stroke. My harness, piece by piece,
thou'st hewn from me
And smitten me to my knee,
I am defenceless, utterly.
I slept methinks, and awoke.
And slowly gazing, find me stripped in sleep.
In the rash lustihead of my young powers,
I shook the pillaring hours,
and pulled my life upon me.
Grimed with smears,
I stand amidst the dust o' the mounded years--
My mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap.
My days have crackled and g


Scheme abaxcdxceAffg dxgxhhiIxjjck kccglggfilfimmfIeAfg nnoogpppqrrsstasu mmaooaovwkxaoccwxff xuxusvgutxeAfg xggguyqqgbbyg
Poetic Form
Metre 1111010101 1111010101 11110011 1111000111 11110101010 11111010100 101011111 11111101010 11110111 010010101 110011 110101 11011111 110111100101 11110110100 111111111 111111101 111101 111101101 0111011111 111101111101 010110111 010011101 111011111 1011010110 011101 11111101111 1111101110 1101010 1111011111 110111111 1101001100 0111110011 11001011001 1111110111 11010111001 11011101 011101 1101010 1111001010 111010101111 111101111101 11110011 010010101 11010010010111 1101111101 1111110111 011111 1101010101 11010101 1111111011 1111111101 110101 1101111101 111101010 11111110010 1111111 11111010 111010101010 110001110 01011 111111 101010101101 1111 1011001011 1011101 111011101111 1110101 1110111 11111 1011 111111111101 111011 11101010 11101001010111 1100101 11001101110 10011010 0111011101 010111111 111111 0101001 111111111101 01110111011 111111101 11010111 111111111100 1011110111 1011111 1111111 0110110100 1011011011111 1011011111 010010101 011111011111 1111110111 1011111001110111 11111 0101111 111100 111001 0101011101 001111110 110110 0111011 111 1101011011 1101110101 1111001
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 4,316
Words 801
Sentences 40
Stanzas 7
Stanza Lengths 13, 13, 20, 17, 19, 14, 13
Lines Amount 109
Letters per line (avg) 32
Words per line (avg) 7
Letters per stanza (avg) 495
Words per stanza (avg) 114
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on May 03, 2023

4:03 min read
3,461

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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