Analysis of Morning
John Crowe Ransom 1888 (Pulaski) – 1974 (Gambier)
THE skies were jaded, while the famous sun
Slack of his office to confute the fogs
Lay sick abed; but I, inured to duty,
Sat for my food. Three hours each day we souls,
Who might be angels but are fastened down
With bodies, most infuriating freight,
Sit fattening these frames and skeletons
With filthy food, which they must cast away
Before they feed again.
| Scheme | ABCDEFGHI |
|---|---|
| Poetic Form | |
| Metre | 0101010101 111101101 11011101110 11111101111 1111011101 110101001 1100110100 1101111101 011101 |
| Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
| Characters | 358 |
| Words | 67 |
| Sentences | 3 |
| Stanzas | 1 |
| Stanza Lengths | 9 |
| Lines Amount | 9 |
| Letters per line (avg) | 32 |
| Words per line (avg) | 7 |
| Letters per stanza (avg) | 284 |
| Words per stanza (avg) | 65 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 14, 2023
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"Morning" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/22394/morning>.
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