A Tabernacle Open
The green begins to rise through richness of
The sunrise-reddish brown across the fields
In Windsor. Sparkling gems peak up above
The corduroy earth. This vista yields
A beauty rivalling, surpassing Crown
Jewels glistening. Pheasants stand as still as God
Among the dewdrops which have settled down
On grass stalks sparkling gently through the sod
While moving birds (and trees), though less splendid
Than autumn’s rigid cock, are sacred in
This light. Today glory condescended
On royal ground. This farmland is akin
To sky and heaven, or at least the growth
Thus borne is holy brightness for them both.
The best way I can read line 4 (I think) is as tetrameter, reading “cord’roy” as two syllables:
“The corduroy earth. This vista yields” : otherwise, if it’s nine syllables, any rhythm seems lost.
line 6: reading “Jewels glistening” as 3 syllables works and must be intended.
line 10: “autumn’s rigid cock”: huh? What, a . . . weathercock? Surely not (just) a penis, here?? (If so, why?) Not a live rooster; nor a dead one, one presumes.
As often, feminine rhymes cause some metrical complications, here in lines 9 and 11:
While moving birds (and trees), though less splendid . . .
This light. Today glory condescended
Line 9 is . . . okay, I guess, for the line remains iambic right up to the one closing trochaic foot (the two-syllable “feminine” rhyme. Usually, to keep the meter beating, especially at its FINAL beat, poets would simply use eleven syllables for lines with feminine rhymes, the extra unstressed syllable not counting (not “adding up”), but it’s generally ok to replace an iamb with a trochee, at least within a line where it isn’t so conspicuous, so . . . okay, whatever.
But in line eleven the trochees have taken over, under the influence of trying to fit a feminine rhyme into ten syllables, which requires the final two syllables holding the “feminine” rhyme to be trochaic, in sympathy with, here, the previous two feet have gone trochaic also.
Getting into the weeds, since my brain is fried now and I haven’t yet figured what subjects to list this one under. Autumn? The picturesque? Landscapes? Farmland? I’m made to think, reading the final lines here, of the start to a late 20th century poem (or is it its title?), “When you consider the radiance,” and so forth.
Thank you for being so thorough, Tom. I pronounce corduroy as four syllables. I agree that allowing feminine rhyme ruins iambic lines. I very seldom allow feminine rhyme. It is to frequent in this poem. The poem is about the queen’s shooting fields in autumn in Windsor. Maybe because of her gender I allowed feminine flaws in this so-called sonnet. The cock is a pheasant. Does this reply help?