Analysis of The Spirit Of The Unborn Babe
The Spirit of the Unborn Babe peered through the window-pane,
Peered through the window-pane that glowed like beacon in the night;
For, oh, the sky was desolate and wild with wind and rain;
And how the little room was crammed with coziness and light!
Except the flirting of the fire there was no sound at all;
The Woman sat beside the hearth, her knitting on her knee;
The shadow of her husband's head was dancing on the wall;
She looked with staring eyes at it, she looked yet did not see.
She only saw a childish face that topped the table rim,
A little wistful ghost that smiled and vanished quick away;
And then because her tender eyes were flooding to the brim,
She lowered her head. . . . "Don't sorrow, dear," she heard him softly say;
"It's over now. We'll try to be as happy as before
(Ah! they who little children have, grant hostages to pain).
We gave Life chance to wound us once, but never, never more. . . ."
The Spirit of the Unborn Babe fled through the night again.
The Spirit of the Unborn Babe went wildered in the dark;
Like termagants the winds tore down and whirled it with the snow.
And then amid the writhing storm it saw a tiny spark,
A window broad, a spacious room all goldenly aglow,
A woman slim and Paris-gowned and exquisitely fair,
Who smiled with rapture as she watched her jewels catch the blaze;
A man in faultless evening dress, young, handsome, debonnaire,
Who smoked his cigarette and looked with frank admiring gaze.
"Oh, we are happy, sweet," said he; "youth, health, and wealth are ours.
What if a thousand toil and sweat that we may live at ease!
What if the hands are worn and torn that strew our path with flowers!
Ah, well! we did not make the world; let us not think of these.
Let's seek the beauty-spots of earth, Dear Heart, just you and I;
Let other women bring forth life with sorrow and with pain.
Above our door we'll hang the sign: `No children need apply. . . .'"
The Spirit of the Unborn Babe sped through the night again.
The Spirit of the Unborn Babe went whirling on and on;
It soared above a city vast, it swept down to a slum;
It saw within a grimy house a light that dimly shone;
It peered in through a window-pane and lo! a voice said: "Come!"
And so a little girl was born amid the dirt and din,
And lived in spite of everything, for life is ordered so;
A child whose eyes first opened wide to swinishness and sin,
A child whose love and innocence met only curse and blow.
And so in due and proper course she took the path of shame,
And gladly died in hospital, quite old at twenty years;
And when God comes to weigh it all, ah! whose shall be the blame
For all her maimed and poisoned life, her torture and her tears?
For oh, it is not what we do, but what we have not done!
And on that day of reckoning, when all is plain and clear,
What if we stand before the Throne, blood-guilty every one? . . .
Maybe the blackest sins of all are Selfishness and Fear.
Scheme | ABABCDCDEFEFGAGH IJIJXKGKLMLMNANH XOXOPJPJQXQXRSRS |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 01010111110101 11010111110001 11011100011101 01010111110001 010101010111111 01010101010101 0110101110101 11110111111111 11010101110101 01010111010101 01010101010101 110011101111101 11011111110101 11110101110011 11111111110101 01010111110101 0101011111001 110111011101 01010101110101 010101011101 0101010101001 11110111010101 01011011101 1110101110101 111101111101110 11010101111111 1101110111101110 11111101111111 11010111111101 11010111110011 011011101110101 01010111110101 01010111110101 11010101111101 11010101011101 11010101010111 01010111010101 0101110111101 011111011101 01110100110101 01010101110111 0101010111101 01111111111101 11010101010001 11111111111111 01111100111101 111101011101001 10010111110001 |
Closest metre | Iambic heptameter |
Characters | 2,881 |
Words | 553 |
Sentences | 39 |
Stanzas | 3 |
Stanza Lengths | 16, 16, 16 |
Lines Amount | 48 |
Letters per line (avg) | 47 |
Words per line (avg) | 12 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 747 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 186 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:46 min read
- 40 Views
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"The Spirit Of The Unborn Babe" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 11 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/32656/the-spirit-of-the-unborn-babe>.
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