Analysis of Little Puddleton
Let others sing of Empire and of pomp beyond the sea,
A song of Little Puddleton is good enough for me,
A song of kindly living, and of coming home to tea.
I seldom read the papers, so I don't know what goes on.
I go to bed at sunset, and I leap alert at dawn,
To gossip with my garden, which I'll have you understand,
Is the neatest and the sweetest little garden in the land;
A span of sunny quietude, with walls so high and stout,
They shut me in from all the world, and shut the whole world out,
So that its sad bewilderment seems less than true to me:
As placid as a pool I live, as tranquil as a tree;
And all its glory I would give for glint of linnet's wings;
My cabbages are more to me than continents and kings.
Dominion have I of my own, where feud and faction cease,
A heaven of tranquillity, a paradise of peace.
Let continents be bathed in blood and cities leap in flame;
The life of Little Puddleton goes on and on the same;
Its ritual we follow, as we play a pleasant game.
The village wortkies sit and smoke their long-stemmed pipes of clay.
And cheerily they nod to me, and pass the time of day.
We talk of pigs and clover, and the prospect of the crops,
And the price of eggs and butter - there the conversation drops.
For in a doubt-distracted world I keep the rustic touch;
I think it better not to think too deeply nor too much;
But just to dream and take delight in all I hear and see,
The tinker in the tavern, with his trollop on his knee;
The ivied church, the anvil clang, the geese upon the green,
The drowsy noon, the hush of eve so holy and screne.
This is my world, then back again with heart of joy I go
To cottage walls of mellow stain, and garden all aglow.
For all I've been and all I've seen I have no vain regret
One comes to Little Puddleton, contented to forget;
Accepting village values, immemorially set.
I did not make this world and so it's not my job to mend;
But I have fought for fifty years and now I hear the end;
And I am heart-faint from the fight, and claim the right to rest,
And dare to hope the last of life will prove to be the best.
For there have I four sturdy walls with low and humble thatch,
A smiling little orchard and a big potato patch.
And so with hoe in hand I stand and mock the dubious sky;
let revolution rock the land, serene, secure am I.
I grow my simple food, I groom my lettuce and my beans;
I feast in colour, form and song, and ask not what it means.
Beauty suffiices in itself; then when my strength is spent,
like simple hind with empty mind, I cultivate content.
Behold then Little Puddleton, the end of all my dreams.
Not much to show for life, I know; yet O how sweet it seems!
For when defeated day goes down in carnage in the West,
How blesses sanctuary is, and peace and love and rest!
Scheme | AAA BXCCDDAAEEFF GGG HHIIJJAAXBKK LLL MMNNOOPPQQRR SSNN |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 110111000110101 011101110111 01110100110111 11010101111111 1111110110111 1101110111101 101000101010001 011101111101 11101101010111 11110100111111 11010111110101 0111011111111 11001111110001 01011111110101 0101101011 11001101010101 011101110101 11001101110101 0101101111111 011111010111 11110100010101 00111010100101 10010101110101 11110111110111 11110101011101 0100010111111 0110101010101 0101011111001 11111101111111 11011101010101 11110111111101 111101010101 010101011 11111101111111 11111101011101 01111101010111 01110111111101 11111101110101 0101010001011 011101110101001 1010101010111 11110111110011 1101101011111 101001111111 1101110111010 011101011111 11111111111111 11010111010001 1101001010101 |
Closest metre | Iambic heptameter |
Characters | 2,737 |
Words | 553 |
Sentences | 20 |
Stanzas | 7 |
Stanza Lengths | 3, 12, 3, 12, 3, 12, 4 |
Lines Amount | 49 |
Letters per line (avg) | 44 |
Words per line (avg) | 11 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 305 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 79 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:47 min read
- 111 Views
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"Little Puddleton" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 5 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/32220/little-puddleton>.
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