Analysis of Love's Autumn
John Howard Payne 1791 (New York City) – 1852
YES, love, the Spring shall come again,
But not as once it came:
Once more in meadow and in lane
The daffodils shall flame,
The cowslips blow, but all in vain;
Alike, yet not the same.
The roses that we pluck’d of old
Were dew’d with heart’s delight;
Our gladness steep’d the primrose-gold
In half its lovely light:
The hopes are long since dead and cold
That flush’d the wind-flowers’ white.
Oh, who shall give us back our Spring?
What spell can fill the air
With all the birds of painted wing
That sang for us whilere?
What charm reclothe with blossoming
Our lives, grown blank and bare?
What sun can draw the ruddy bloom
Back to hope’s faded rose?
What stir of summer re-illume
Our hearts’ wreck’d garden-close?
What flowers can fill the empty room
Where now the nightshade grows?
’T is but the Autumn’s chilly sun
That mocks the glow of May;
’T is but the pallid bindweeds run
Across our garden way,
Pale orchids, scentless every one,
Ghosts of the summer day.
Yet, if it must be so, ’t is well:
What part have we in June?
Our hearts have all forgot the spell
That held the summer noon;
We echo back the cuckoo’s knell,
And not the linnet’s tune.
What shall we do with roses now,
Whose cheeks no more are red?
What violets should deck our brow,
Whose hopes long since are fled?
Recalling many a wasted vow
And many a faith struck dead.
Bring heath and pimpernel and rue,
The Autumn’s sober flowers:
At least their scent will not renew
The thought of happy hours,
Nor drag sad memory back unto
That lost sweet time of ours.
Faith is no sun of summertide,
Only the pale, calm light
That, when the Autumn clouds divide,
Hangs in the watchet height,—
A lamp, wherewith we may abide
The coming of the night.
And yet, beneath its languid ray,
The moorlands bare and dry
Bethink them of the summer day
And flower, far and nigh,
With fragile memories of the May,
Blue as the August sky.
These are our flowers: they have no scent
To mock our waste desire,
No hint of bygone ravishment
To stir the faded fire:
The very soul of sad content
Dwells in each azure spire.
I have no violets: you laid
Your blight upon them all:
It was your hand, alas! that made
My roses fade and fall,
Your breath my lilies that forbade
To come at Summer’s call.
Yet take these scentless flowers and pale,
The last of all my year:
Be tender to them; they are frail:
But if thou hold them dear,
I ’ll not their brighter kin bewail,
That now lie cold and sere.
Scheme | XABABA CDCDCD EFEFEF GHAXGH IJIJIJ KLKLKL MNMNMN OPOPOP CDQDQD JRJRJR STCTSX UVUVUV WXWXKX |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11011101 111111 1101001 01011 0111101 011101 01011111 011101 1011011 011101 01111101 1101101 111111101 111101 11011101 11111 1111100 1011101 11110101 111101 1111011 1011101 110110101 11011 11101101 110111 11101011 0110101 11011001 110101 111111111 111101 101110101 110101 11010101 01011 11111101 111111 110011101 111111 010100101 0100111 110101 011010 11111101 0111010 111100110 1111110 111111 100111 11010101 10011 0111101 010101 01011101 01101 1110101 010101 110100101 110101 1110101111 11101010 11111 1101010 01011110 101101 11110011 110111 11110111 110101 11110101 111101 11111001 011111 11011111 111111 11111011 111101 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 2,582 |
Words | 459 |
Sentences | 22 |
Stanzas | 13 |
Stanza Lengths | 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6 |
Lines Amount | 78 |
Letters per line (avg) | 24 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 145 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 35 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 17, 2023
- 2:17 min read
- 60 Views
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"Love's Autumn" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 14 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/23324/love%27s-autumn>.
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