Analysis of April
Charlotte Smith 1749 (London) – 1806 (Tilford, Surrey)
GREEN o'er the copses spring's soft hues are spreading,
High wave the reeds in the transparent floods,
The oak its sear and sallow foliage shedding,
From their moss'd cradles start its infant buds.
Pale as the tranquil tide of summer's ocean,
The willow now its slender leaf unveils;
And through the sky with swiftly fleeting motion,
Driv'n by the wind, the rack of April sails.
Then, as the gust declines, the stealing showers
Fall fresh and noiseless; while at closing day
The low sun gleams on moist and half-blown flowers,
That promise garlands for approaching May.
Bless'd are yon peasant children, simply singing,
Who through the new-sprung grass rejoicing rove;
More bless'd! to whom the time , fond thought is bringing,
Of friends expected, or returning love.
The pensive wanderer bless'd, to whom reflection
Points out some future views that soothe his mind;
Me how unlike!--whom cruel recollection
But tells of comfort I shall never find!
Hope, that on Nature's youth is still attending,
No more to me her syren song shall sing;
Never to me her influence extending,
Shall I again enjoy the days of Spring!
Yet, how I loved them once these scenes remind me,
When light of heart, in childhood's thoughtless mirth,
I reck'd not that the cruel lot assign'd me
Should make me curse the hour that gave me birth!
Then, from thy wild-wood banks, Aruna! roving,
Thy thymy downs with sportive steps I sought,
And Nature's charms, with artless transport loving,
Sung, like the birds, unheeded and untaught.
But now the springtide's pleasant hours returning,
Serve to awaken me to sharper pain;
Recalling scenes of agony and mourning,
Of baffled hope and prayers preferr'd in vain.
Thus shone the sun, his vernal rays displaying,
Thus did the woods in early verdure wave,
While dire disease on all I loved was preying,
And flowers seem'd rising but to strew her grave.
Now, 'mid reviving blooms, I coldly languish,
Spring seems devoid of joy to me alone;
Each sound of pleasure aggravates my anguish,
And speaks of beauty, youth, and sweetness gone.
Yet, as stern duty bids, with faint endeavour
I drag on life, contending with my woe,
Though conscious misery still repeats, that never
My soul one pleasurable hour shall know.
Lost in the tomb, when Hope no more appeases
The fester'd wounds that prompt the eternal sigh,
Grief, the most fatal of the heart's diseases,
Soon teaches, whom it fastens on, to die.
The wretch undone, for pain alone existing,
The abject dread of death shall sure subdue,
And far from his decisive hand resisting,
Rejoice to bid a world like this, adieu.
Scheme | ABABCDCDEFEFAXAXCGCG AAAAHIHIAXAFAJAJAKAKLXLXMNMNBOXO APAP |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11001111110 1101000101 0111011010 1111011101 11010111010 011110101 01011101010 1101011101 11010101010 110111101 01111101110 110110101 11110101010 1101110101 11110111110 1101010101 010100111010 1111011111 1101110010 1111011101 11110111010 111101111 10110100010 1101010111 11111111011 111101101 11110101011 11110101111 111111110 11111111 0101110110 110101001 11011010010 1101011101 01011100010 1101010101 11011101010 110101011 11011111110 01011011101 11010111010 1101111101 1111010110 0111010101 11110111010 1111010111 110100101110 11110001011 100111111 01011100101 10110101010 110111111 01011101010 0101111101 01110101010 0111011101 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 2,533 |
Words | 440 |
Sentences | 18 |
Stanzas | 3 |
Stanza Lengths | 20, 32, 4 |
Lines Amount | 56 |
Letters per line (avg) | 36 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 679 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 146 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:17 min read
- 76 Views
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"April" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 30 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/5566/april>.
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