It’s actually a dimeter at the end, though opening on a stressed offbeat. In stress pattern and word shape it echoes the last phrase of the previous line (DUM DUM-di DUM):
When I was a lot younger, sometimes I'd read someone's scansion of a line and think, That's not how I hear it. At the time, I thought there was something wrong with me. Another insecurity of youth. It wasn't taught in school, and I had a couple of fine English teachers in high school.
I've tried to write poems with the absence-as-presence theme, but not successfully. I often encountered "The Listeners" in many anthologies, but never thought to learn from it.
I don't know that this sense of absence-as-presence a thing somebody can consciously do --- you could talk *about* it, possibly effectively, but de la Mare just seems to write toward a sort of eerieness that takes shape in particular ways. That's how I think about it, anyway (not actually KNOWING what Walter de la Mare's process was) --- I often find myself writing toward some atmosphere or sensation or something else kind of inchoate that winds up informing whatever the particulars are that end up in the poem or story or whatever it is I'm writing.
And yes, I think scansion --- while there are concrete rules about metrical patterning, and they matter --- does depend on how a particular reader would say something/read it aloud. I think that's why it is good to read poems aloud, because you can hear what comes out sounding like natural speech (to you) and what would feel strained and artificial. I'm realizing that there's a line of this poem that I read as tetrameter that probably, technically, should be read as pentameter because most of the longer lines are --- but you'd have to stress an "of" in a way that might work in your mind, but would sound weird read aloud.
You can read it as two iambs. But in my ear, the comma, setting off "thou" as an address rather than a modifier, seems to shift more emphasis onto that first syllable than it would otherwise have: a spondee as the first foot rather than an iamb. That's how I would read it aloud, anyway. "Thou, lovely thing" sounds different from "thou lovely thing."
That's a very compelling explanation! I think you're right that thou is stressed. I still hear it as relatively less stressed than love, and therefore scan the line as dimeter. But either way there is a certain oddness introduced right at the end, either by the irregular meter in your reading or by an address that is relatively hushed - and right when the baby finally arrives.
An offbeat can be fully stressed! The established iambic beat pattern clearly marks this final line as a dimeter. But when an opening offbeat is stressed, it is only retrospectively heard as an offbeat - which is an effective way to catch the ear’s attention. The effect is all the more exaggerated when, as in this example, as Sally noted, that opening offbeat is set apart by punctuation (what I call a “split spondee”).
*Other* than that comma, the final line repeats the stress pattern and word shape of the last phrase of the previous line - an elegant example of repetition with difference:
couched weeping there,
Thou, lovely thing.
Both have a stressed opening offbeat and a trochaic middle word (not a trochaic “foot”: it cuts across the foot division).
Spondees are the subject of no end of debate and argument, so I know many people would disagree with my comments. Which is fine!
It’s actually a dimeter at the end, though opening on a stressed offbeat. In stress pattern and word shape it echoes the last phrase of the previous line (DUM DUM-di DUM):
couched weeping there,
Thou, lovely thing.
Really interesting post, thank you.
Absolutely loving these poems and reflections! Isn't it a dimeter line at the end, though?
I hear three stresses: THOU, LOVEly THING. But my ear may well be eccentric.
When I was a lot younger, sometimes I'd read someone's scansion of a line and think, That's not how I hear it. At the time, I thought there was something wrong with me. Another insecurity of youth. It wasn't taught in school, and I had a couple of fine English teachers in high school.
I've tried to write poems with the absence-as-presence theme, but not successfully. I often encountered "The Listeners" in many anthologies, but never thought to learn from it.
I don't know that this sense of absence-as-presence a thing somebody can consciously do --- you could talk *about* it, possibly effectively, but de la Mare just seems to write toward a sort of eerieness that takes shape in particular ways. That's how I think about it, anyway (not actually KNOWING what Walter de la Mare's process was) --- I often find myself writing toward some atmosphere or sensation or something else kind of inchoate that winds up informing whatever the particulars are that end up in the poem or story or whatever it is I'm writing.
And yes, I think scansion --- while there are concrete rules about metrical patterning, and they matter --- does depend on how a particular reader would say something/read it aloud. I think that's why it is good to read poems aloud, because you can hear what comes out sounding like natural speech (to you) and what would feel strained and artificial. I'm realizing that there's a line of this poem that I read as tetrameter that probably, technically, should be read as pentameter because most of the longer lines are --- but you'd have to stress an "of" in a way that might work in your mind, but would sound weird read aloud.
You can read it as two iambs. But in my ear, the comma, setting off "thou" as an address rather than a modifier, seems to shift more emphasis onto that first syllable than it would otherwise have: a spondee as the first foot rather than an iamb. That's how I would read it aloud, anyway. "Thou, lovely thing" sounds different from "thou lovely thing."
That's a very compelling explanation! I think you're right that thou is stressed. I still hear it as relatively less stressed than love, and therefore scan the line as dimeter. But either way there is a certain oddness introduced right at the end, either by the irregular meter in your reading or by an address that is relatively hushed - and right when the baby finally arrives.
An offbeat can be fully stressed! The established iambic beat pattern clearly marks this final line as a dimeter. But when an opening offbeat is stressed, it is only retrospectively heard as an offbeat - which is an effective way to catch the ear’s attention. The effect is all the more exaggerated when, as in this example, as Sally noted, that opening offbeat is set apart by punctuation (what I call a “split spondee”).
*Other* than that comma, the final line repeats the stress pattern and word shape of the last phrase of the previous line - an elegant example of repetition with difference:
couched weeping there,
Thou, lovely thing.
Both have a stressed opening offbeat and a trochaic middle word (not a trochaic “foot”: it cuts across the foot division).
Spondees are the subject of no end of debate and argument, so I know many people would disagree with my comments. Which is fine!
And so glad you're enjoying the poems! Thanks so much for taking the time to read and comment.