Stains the dead, blank, cold air with a warm shade.

Sh.e.l.lEY, Epipsychidion, 92.

Of waves, flowers, clouds, woods, rocks, and all that we Read in their smiles, and call reality.

Ibid., 511 f.

We have lov'd, prais'd, pitied, crown'd, and done thee wrong.

SWINBURNE, On the Cliffs.

For extreme examples of the accelerandos and ritenutos which our metrical ear seems willing to accept easily, one might compare two 4-stress lines by contemporary poets--

In the mystery of life.

ROBERT BRIDGES.

On the highest peak of the tired gray world.

SARA TEASDALE.

or Swinburne's--

The four boards of the coffin lid Heard all the dead man did....

The dead man asked of them: "Is the green land stained brown with flame?"

After Death.

These few general cla.s.sifications by no means exhaust the possibilities of metrical variations and adjustments. In a real sense, every line is rhythmically different from every other line; but many of these differences are subjective, that is, they are determined by the individual training, tastes, habits, of each reader, his familiarity with few or many poets, the physical const.i.tution of his organs of hearing, even the temporary mood in which he reads. The actual, objective peculiarities of a line are always significant, if the poet is a true master, but such is the variableness of experience and of life itself that unless we possess the poet's understanding and his sensitiveness--or can cultivate them--we lose a certain part of the significance. For one person, therefore, to dogmatize is both impertinent and misleading: the following specimens of peculiar rhythm are accordingly left without special comment. Some of them have long been bones of contention among prosodists; some of them are almost self-explanatory, others are subtle and difficult (and must be felt rather than explained), others have perhaps only their unusualness to recommend them to one's attention. In every case, however, they should be studied both in their metrical context and by themselves. They should be approached not only as technical problems in the accommodation of natural speech emphasis to the formal patterns of verse, but also--and this is the more important point of view--as adjustments in the second degree, adjustments of the prose-and-verse harmonies to the fullest expressiveness of which language is capable. It is a common observation that emotional language tends of itself to become rhythmical; the emotional and highly wrought language of poetry requires the restraint of verse as a standard by which its rhythms may be more powerfully realized and its significant deviations therefrom measured. And it is almost a constant 'law' that the more acute or profound the emotion, the more complex is the rhythm which gives it fit and adequate expression in words. 'Complex' does not necessarily mean arcane or supersubtle or _recherche_. On the contrary, simplification (though not simplicity) is one of the characteristics of the best and greatest art. But to simplify beyond a certain point the various entangled implications of a poignant emotion is merely to rob it of some of its fundamental qualities. Nor is it childish to reason that a peculiar or extraordinary idea is most naturally expressed by a peculiar or extraordinary rhythm. Argument aside, it is an observable and verifiable fact.

That we may so suffice his vengeful ire.

MILTON, Paradise Lost, I, 148.

A mind not to be changed by time or place.

Ibid., I, 253.

Behold me then, me for him, life for life.

Ibid., III, 236.

Both G.o.d and Man, Son both of G.o.d and Man.

Ibid., III, 316.

As from blest voices, uttering joy, Heav'n rung.

Ibid., III, 347.

Infinite wrath and infinite despair.

Ibid., IV, 74.

Raphael, the sociable spirit, that deign'd.

Ibid., V, 221.

Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms.

Ibid., VI, 32.

Before thy fellows, ambitious to win.

Ibid., VI, 160.

On me already lost, me than thyself More miserable. Both have sinned; but thou Against G.o.d only; I against G.o.d and thee.

Ibid., N, 929 ff.

O miserable mankind, to what fall.

Ibid., XI, 500.

And made him bow to the G.o.ds of his wives.

Paradise Regained, II, 171.

Hail, Son of the Most High, heir of both worlds.

Ibid., IV, 633.

Wilt thou then serve the Philistines with that gift?

Samson Agonistes, 576.

Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?

KEATS, Hyperion, I, 134.

When night makes a weird sound of its own stillness.

Sh.e.l.lEY, Alastor, 30

Yielding one only response, at each pause.

Sh.e.l.lEY, Alastor, 564.

Touch, mingle, are transfigured; ever still Burning, yet ever inconsumable.

Sh.e.l.lEY, Epipsychidion, 578 f.

Lies to G.o.d, lies to man, every way lies.

BROWNING, The Ring and the Book, IV, 216.

'Do I live, am I dead?' Peace, peace seems all.

BROWNING, The Bishop Orders his Tomb.

Good strong thick stupefying incense-smoke.

Ibid.

I cry 'Life!' 'Death,' he groans, 'our better life!'

BROWNING, Aristophanes' Apology, 1953.

Setebos, Setebos, and Setebos.

BROWNING, Caliban upon Setebos.

Even to the last dip of the vanishing sail.

TENNYSON, Enoch Arden, 244.

Saying gently, Annie, when I spoke to you.

Ibid., 445.