Analysis of The Portrait
Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1828 (London) – 1882 (Birchington-on-Sea)
This is her picture as she was:
It seems a thing to wonder on,
As though mine image in the glass
Should tarry when myself am gone.
I gaze until she seems to stir,--
Until mine eyes almost aver
That now, even now, the sweet lips part
To breathe the words of the sweet heart:--
And yet the earth is over her.
Alas! even such the thin-drawn ray
That makes the prison-depths more rude,--
The drip of water night and day
Giving a tongue to solitude.
Yet only this, of love's whole prize,
Remains; save what in mournful guise
Takes counsel with my soul alone,--
Save what is secret and unknown,
Below the earth, above the skies.
In painting her I shrin'd her face
Mid mystic trees, where light falls in
Hardly at all; a covert place
Where you might think to find a din
Of doubtful talk, and a live flame
Wandering, and many a shape whose name
Not itself knoweth, and old dew,
And your own footsteps meeting you,
And all things going as they came.
A deep dim wood; and there she stands
As in that wood that day: for so
Was the still movement of her hands
And such the pure line's gracious flow.
And passing fair the type must seem,
Unknown the presence and the dream.
'Tis she: though of herself, alas!
Less than her shadow on the grass
Or than her image in the stream.
That day we met there, I and she
One with the other all alone;
And we were blithe; yet memory
Saddens those hours, as when the moon
Looks upon daylight. And with her
I stoop'd to drink the spring-water,
Athirst where other waters sprang;
And where the echo is, she sang,--
My soul another echo there.
But when that hour my soul won strength
For words whose silence wastes and kills,
Dull raindrops smote us, and at length
Thunder'd the heat within the hills.
That eve I spoke those words again
Beside the pelted window-pane;
And there she hearken'd what I said,
With under-glances that survey'd
The empty pastures blind with rain.
Next day the memories of these things,
Like leaves through which a bird has flown,
Still vibrated with Love's warm wings;
Till I must make them all my own
And paint this picture. So, 'twixt ease
Of talk and sweet long silences,
She stood among the plants in bloom
At windows of a summer room,
To feign the shadow of the trees.
And as I wrought, while all above
And all around was fragrant air,
In the sick burthen of my love
It seem'd each sun-thrill'd blossom there
Beat like a heart among the leaves.
O heart that never beats nor heaves,
In that one darkness lying still,
What now to thee my love's great will
Or the fine web the sunshine weaves?
For now doth daylight disavow
Those days,--nought left to see or hear.
Only in solemn whispers now
At night-time these things reach mine ear;
When the leaf-shadows at a breath
Shrink in the road, and all the heath,
Forest and water, far and wide,
In limpid starlight glorified,
Lie like the mystery of death.
Last night at last I could have slept,
And yet delay'd my sleep till dawn,
Still wandering. Then it was I wept:
For unawares I came upon
Those glades where once she walk'd with me:
And as I stood there suddenly,
All wan with traversing the night,
Upon the desolate verge of light
Yearn'd loud the iron-bosom'd sea.
Even so, where Heaven holds breath and hears
The beating heart of Love's own breast,--
Where round the secret of all spheres
All angels lay their wings to rest,--
How shall my soul stand rapt and aw'd,
When, by the new birth borne abroad
Throughout the music of the suns,
It enters in her soul at once
And knows the silence there for God!
Here with her face doth memory sit
Meanwhile, and wait the day's decline,
Till other eyes shall look from it,
Eyes of the spirit's Palestine,
Even than the old gaze tenderer:
While hopes and aims long lost with her
Stand round her image side by side,
Like tombs of pilgrims that have died
About the Holy Sepulchre.
Scheme | Text too long |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11010111 11011101 11110001 1101111 11011111 0111110 111010111 11011011 01011100 011010111 11010111 01110101 1001110 11011111 01110101 11011101 11110001 01010101 01001101 11011110 10110101 11111101 11010011 1000100111 1011011 0111101 01110111 01110111 10111111 10110101 01011101 01010111 01010001 11110101 1101101 11010001 11111101 11010101 01011100 101101101 1011010 11110110 1110101 01010111 11010101 111101111 11110101 1111011 10010101 11111101 01010101 0111111 11010101 01010111 110100111 11110111 111111 11111111 01110111 11011100 11010101 11010101 1101101 01111101 01011101 0011111 11111101 11010101 11110111 01110101 11111111 1011011 111101 11111111 10010101 11111111 1011101 10010101 10010101 01110 11010011 11111111 01011111 110011111 1011101 11111111 01111100 11101001 010100111 1101011 1011101101 01011111 11010111 11011111 11111101 11011101 01010101 11000111 01010111 110111001 1010101 11011111 1101010 1010111 11011110 11010111 11110111 010101 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 4,234 |
Words | 719 |
Sentences | 25 |
Stanzas | 12 |
Stanza Lengths | 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9 |
Lines Amount | 108 |
Letters per line (avg) | 28 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 248 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 59 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 23, 2023
- 3:41 min read
- 132 Views
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"The Portrait" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 11 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/7754/the-portrait>.
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