Analysis of Uriconium: an Ode
Wilfred Owen 1893 (Oswestry) – 1918 (Sambre–Oise Canal)
It lieth low near merry England's heart
Like a long-buried sin; and Englishmen
Forget that in its death their sires had part.
And, like a sin, Time lays it bare again
To tell of races wronged,
And ancient glories suddenly overcast,
And treasures flung to fire and rabble wrath.
If thou hast ever longed
To lift the gloomy curtain of Time Past,
And spy the secret things that Hades hath,
Here through this riven ground take such a view.
The dust, that fell unnoted as a dew,
Wrapped the dead city's face like mummy-cloth:
All is as was: except for worm and moth.
Since Jove was worshipped under Wrekin's shade
Or Latin phrase was writ in Shropshire stone,
Since Druid chaunts desponded in this glade
Or Tuscan general called that field his own,
How long ago? How long?
How long since wanderers in the Stretton Hills
Met men of shaggy hair and savage jaw,
With flint and copper prong,
Aiming behind their dikes and thorny grilles?
Ah! those were days before the axe and saw,
Then were the nights when this mid-forest town
Held breath to hear the wolves come yelping down,
And ponderous bears 'long Severn lifted paw,
And nuzzling boars ran grunting through the shaw.
Ah me! full fifteen hundred times the wheat
Hath risen, and bowed, and fallen to human hunger
Since those imperial days were made complete.
The weary moon hath waxen old and younger
These eighteen thousand times
Without a shrine to greet her gentle ray.
And other temples rose; to Power and Pelf,
And chimed centurial chimes
Until their very bells are worn away.
While King by King lay cold on vaulted shelf
And wars closed wars, and many a Marmion fell,
And dearths and plagues holp sire and son to hell;
And old age stiffened many a lively elf
And many a poet's heart outdrained itself.
I had forgot that so remote an age
Beyond the horizon of our little sight,
Is far from us by no more spanless gauge
Than day and night, succeeding day and night,
Until I looked on Thee,
Thou ghost of a dead city, or its husk!
But even as we could walk by field and hedge
Hence to the distant sea
So, by the rote of common dawn and dusk,
We travel back to history's utmost edge.
Yea, when through thy old streets I took my way,
And recked a thousand years as yesterday,
Methought sage fancy wrought a sacrilege
To steal for me such godly privilege!
For here lie remnants from a banquet table -
Oysters and marrow-bones, and seeds of grape -
The statement of whose age must sound a fable;
And Samian jars, whose sheen and flawless shape
Look fresh from potter's mould.
Plasters with Roman finger-marks impressed;
Bracelets that from the warm Italian arm
Might seem to be scarce cold;
And spears - the same that pushed the Cymry west-
Unblunted yet; with tools of forge and farm
Abandoned, as a man in sudden fear
Drops what he holds to help his swift career:
For sudden was Rome's flight, and wild the alarm.
The Saxon shock was like Vesuvius' qualm.
O ye who prate of modern art and craft .
Mark well that Gaulish brooch, and test that screw!
Art's fairest buds on antique stem are graft.
Under the sun is nothing wholly new!
At Viricon today
The village anvil rests on Roman base
And in a garden, may be seen a bower
With pillars for its stay
That anciently in basilic had place.
The church's font is but a pagan dower:
A Temple's column, hollowed into this.
So is the glory of our artifice,
Our pleasure and our worship, but the flower
Of Roman custom and of Roman power.
O ye who laugh and, living as if Time
Meant but the twelve hours ticking round your dial,
Find it too short for thee, watch the sublime,
Slow, epochal time-registers awhile,
Which are Antiquities.
O ye who weep and call all your life too long
And moan: Was ever sorrow like to mine?
Muse on the memories
That sad sepulchral stones and ruins prolong.
Here might men drink of wonder like strong wine
And feel ephemeral troubles soothed and curbed.
Yet farmers, wroth to have their laws disturbed,
Are sooner roused for little loss to pine
Than we are moved by mighty woes long syne.
Above this reverend ground, what traveller checks?
Yet cities such as these one time would breed
Apocalyptic visions of world-wrecks.
Let Saxon men return to them, and heed!
They slew and burnt,
But after, prized what Rome had given away
Out of her strength and her prosperity.
Have they yet learnt
The precious truth distilled from Rome's decay?
Ruins! On England's heart press heavily!
For Rome hath left us
Scheme | Text too long |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 111110101 101101010 0110111111 0101111101 111101 0101010010 01011100101 111101 1101010111 0101011101 1111011101 01111101 1011011101 1111011101 111101011 110111011 11011011 11010011111 110111 1111000011 1111010101 110101 1001110101 1101010101 1001111101 1111011101 01001110101 011110101 1110110101 1100101011010 11010010101 0101111010 101101 0101110101 01010111001 0111 0111011101 1111111101 011101001001 01011100111 01110100101 0100101101 1101110111 010010110101 111111111 1101010101 011111 1110110111 11011111101 110101 1101110101 1101110011 1111111111 010101110 111010100 111111010 11110101010 1001010111 01011111010 011110101 111101 1011010101 1011010101 111111 010111011 11111101 0101010101 1111111101 11011101001 01011101001 1111110101 111110111 1101101111 1001110101 1101 0101011101 00010111010 110111 110111 0101110101 0101010011 11010110100 1010010101010 11010011010 1111010111 110110101110 1111111001 1100110001 110100 11110111111 0111010111 110100 111101001 1111110111 01010010101 1101111101 1101110111 1111110111 011100111001 1101111111 001010111 1101011101 1101 11011111001 1101000100 1111 0101011101 1011011100 11111 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 4,310 |
Words | 800 |
Sentences | 40 |
Stanzas | 8 |
Stanza Lengths | 14, 14, 14, 14, 14, 14, 14, 11 |
Lines Amount | 109 |
Letters per line (avg) | 32 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 436 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 100 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 17, 2023
- 4:03 min read
- 108 Views
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"Uriconium: an Ode" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 12 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/38561/uriconium%3A-an-ode>.
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