Analysis of The Titmouse
Ralph Waldo Emerson 1803 (Boston) – 1882 (Concord)
You shall not be overbold
When you deal with arctic cold,
As late I found my lukewarm blood
Chilled wading in the snow-choked wood.
How should I fight? my foeman fine
Has million arms to one of mine:
East, west, for aid I looked in vain,
East, west, north, south, are his domain.
Miles off, three dangerous miles, is home;
Must borrow his winds who there would come.
Up and away for life! be fleet!--
The frost-king ties my fumbling feet,
Sings in my ears, my hands are stones,
Curdles the blood to the marble bones,
Tugs at the heart-strings, numbs the sense,
And hems in life with narrowing fence.
Well, in this broad bed lie and sleep,
The punctual stars will vigil keep,
Embalmed by purifying cold,
The winds shall sing their dead-march old,
The snow is no ignoble shroud,
The moon thy mourner, and the cloud.
Softly,--but this way fate was pointing,
'T was coming fast to such anointing,
When piped a tiny voice hard by,
Gay and polite a cheerful cry,
Chic-chicadeedee! saucy note
Out of sound heart and merry throat,
As if it said, 'Good day, good sir!
Fine afternoon, old passenger!
Happy to meet you in these places,
Where January brings few faces.'
This poet, though he live apart,
Moved by his hospitable heart,
Sped, when I passed his sylvan fort,
To do the honours of his court,
As fits a feathered lord of land;
Flew near, with soft wing grazed my hand,
Hopped on the bough, then, darting low,
Prints his small impress on the snow,
Shows feats of his gymnastic play,
Head downward, clinging to the spray.
Here was this atom in full breath,
Hurling defiance at vast death;
This scrap of valour just for play
Fronts the north-wind in waistcoat gray,
As if to shame my weak behaviour;
I greeted loud my little saviour,
'You pet! what dost here? and what for?
In these woods, thy small Labrador,
At this pinch, wee San Salvador!
What fire burns in that little chest
So frolic, stout, and self-possest?
Henceforth I wear no stripe but thine;
Ashes and jet all hues outshine.
Why are not diamonds black and gray,
To ape thy dare-devil array?
And I affirm, the spacious North
Exists to draw thy virtue forth.
I think no virtue goes with size;
The reason of all cowardice
Is, that men are overgrown,
And, to be valiant, must come down
To the titmouse dimension.'
'T is good-will makes intelligence,
And I began to catch the sense
Of my bird's song: 'Live out of doors,
In the great woods, on prairie floors.
I dine in the sun; when he sinks in the sea,
I too have a hole in a hollow tree;
And I like less when Summer beats
With stifling beams on these retreats,
Than noontide twilights which snow makes
With tempest of the blinding flakes.
For well the soul, if stout within,
Can arm impregnably the skin;
And polar frost my frame defied,
Made of the air that blows outside.'
With glad remembrance of my debt,
I homeward turn; farewell, my pet!
When here again thy pilgrim comes,
He shall bring store of seeds and crumbs.
Doubt not, so long as earth has bread,
Thou first and foremost shalt be fed;
The Providence that is most large
Takes hearts like thine in special charge,
Helps who for their own need are strong,
And the sky dotes on cheerful song.
Henceforth I prize thy wiry chant
O'er all that mass and minster vaunt;
For men mis-hear thy call in spring,
As 't would accost some frivolous wing;
Crying out of the hazel copse, Phe-be!
And, in winter, Chic-a-dee-dee!
I think old Caesar must have heard
In northern Gaul my dauntless bird,
And, echoed in some frosty wold,
Borrowed thy battle-numbers bold.
And I will write our annals new,
And thank thee for a better clew,
I, who dreamed not when I came here
To find the antidote of fear,
Now hear thee say in Roman key,
Paean! Veni, vidi, vici.
Scheme | AAAABBCCXXAADDEEFFAAAA GGHHAAIIJJ AAAAAAKKLL MMLLIINNNAABBLLOOXXXXX XEPPQQRRSSTTAA AAUUAAVVWWAAGGQAAAAAXKXXQD |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11111 1111101 11111111 11000111 1111111 11011111 11111101 11111101 111100111 11111111 10011111 011111001 10111111 10110101 11011101 010111001 10111101 010011101 0111001 01111111 01110101 01110001 101111110 11101111 11010111 10010101 11101 11110101 11111111 1011100 101110110 11001110 11011101 11111001 11111101 1101111 11010111 11111111 11011101 11101101 11110101 11010101 11110011 10010111 1111111 1011011 1111111 11011101 11111011 0111110 1111110 110101101 1101011 11111111 1001111 11110101 11111001 01010101 01111101 11110111 01011100 111101 01110111 101010 111110100 01011101 11111111 00111101 11001111001 1110100101 01111101 11011101 111111 11010101 11011101 11101 01011101 11011111 11010111 1101111 11011101 11111101 11111111 1101111 01001111 11110101 11111111 00111101 11111101 101110101 11111101 1110111001 1011010111 00101011 11110111 0101111 01001101 1110101 011110101 01110101 11111111 1101011 11110101 10111 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 3,610 |
Words | 682 |
Sentences | 34 |
Stanzas | 6 |
Stanza Lengths | 22, 10, 10, 22, 14, 26 |
Lines Amount | 104 |
Letters per line (avg) | 28 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 477 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 113 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 26, 2023
- 3:24 min read
- 191 Views
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"The Titmouse" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 12 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/29880/the-titmouse>.
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