Visions In The Smoke Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABABCBCB DEDD EFGFG HIJIKLKL MNMNOPOQ RSRSTSTS BBBUBBBBB VWVWXYXYZA2ZA2 B2C2B2D2QBQB E2NE2NQBQB F2G2F2G2BH2BH2 BYBYI2YI2Y J2BJ2BK2GK2G ONONHB2HB2 L2GL2GM2N2M2N2 O2YO2YP2Q2P2Q2 F2YF2YR2GR2S2 BBVBBBVWT2WT2U2V2U2V 2BW2VW2BQBQX2Y2X2Y2Z 2YZ2YRest and be thankful On the verge | A |
Of the tall cliff rugged and grey | B |
But whose granite base the breakers surge | A |
And shiver their frothy spray | B |
Outstretched I gaze on the eddying wreath | C |
That gathers and flits away | B |
With the surf beneath and between my teeth | C |
The stem of the ancient clay | B |
- | |
With the anodyne cloud on my listless eyes | D |
With its spell on my dreamy brain | E |
As I watch the circling vapours rise | D |
From the brown bowl up to the sullen skies | D |
- | |
My vision becomes more plain | E |
Till a dim kaleidoscope succeeds | F |
Through the smoke rack drifting and veering | G |
Like ghostly riders on phantom steeds | F |
To a shadowy goal careering | G |
- | |
In their own generation the wise may sneer | H |
They hold our sports in derision | I |
Perchance to sophist or sage or seer | J |
Were allotted a graver vision | I |
Yet if man of all the Creator plann'd | K |
His noblest work is reckoned | L |
Of the works of His hand by sea or by land | K |
The horse may at least rank second | L |
- | |
Did they quail those steeds of the squadrons light | M |
Did they flinch from the battle's roar | N |
When they burst on the guns of the Muscovite | M |
By the echoing Black Sea shore | N |
On on to the cannon's mouth they stride | O |
With never a swerve nor a shy | P |
Oh the minutes of yonder maddening ride | O |
Long years of pleasure outvie | Q |
- | |
No slave but a comrade staunch in this | R |
Is the horse for he takes his share | S |
Not in peril alone but in feverish bliss | R |
And in longing to do and dare | S |
Where bullets whistle and round shot whiz | T |
Hoofs trample and blades flash bare | S |
God send me an ending as fair as his | T |
Who died in his stirrups there | S |
- | |
The wind has slumbered throughout the day | B |
Now a fitful gust springs over the bay | B |
My wandering thoughts no longer stray | B |
I'll fix my overcoat buttons | U |
Secure my old hat as best I may | B |
And a shocking bad one it is by the way | B |
Blow a denser cloud from my stunted clay | B |
And then friend BELL as the Frenchmen say | B |
We'll go back again to our muttons | B |
- | |
There's a lull in the tumult on yonder hill | V |
And the clamour has grown less loud | W |
Though the Babel of tongues is never still | V |
With the presence of such a crowd | W |
The bell has rung With their riders up | X |
At the starting post they muster | Y |
The racers stripp'd for the Melbourne Cup | X |
All gloss and polish and lustre | Y |
And the course is seen with its emerald sheen | Z |
By the bright spring tide renew'd | A2 |
Like a ribbon of green stretched out between | Z |
The ranks of the multitude | A2 |
- | |
The flag is lowered They're off They come | B2 |
The squadron is sweeping on | C2 |
A sway in the crowd a murmuring hum | B2 |
They're here They're past They're gone | D2 |
They came with the rush of the southern surf | Q |
On the bar of the storm girt bay | B |
And like muffled drums on the sounding turf | Q |
Their hoof strokes echo away | B |
- | |
The rose and black draws clear of the ruck | E2 |
And the murmur swells to a roar | N |
As the brave old colours that never were struck | E2 |
Are seen with the lead once more | N |
Though the feathery ferns and grasses wave | Q |
O'er the sod where Lantern sleeps | B |
Though the turf is green on Fisherman's grave | Q |
The stable its prestige keeps | B |
- | |
Six lengths in front she scours along | F2 |
She's bringing the field to trouble | G2 |
She's tailing them off she's running strong | F2 |
She shakes her head and pulls double | G2 |
Now Minstrel falters and Exile flags | B |
The Barb finds the pace too hot | H2 |
And Toryboy loiters and Playboy lags | B |
And the bolt of Ben Bolt is shot | H2 |
- | |
That she never may be caught this day | B |
Is the worst that the public wish her | Y |
She won't be caught she comes right away | B |
Hurrah for Seagull and Fisher | Y |
See Strop falls back though his reins are slack | I2 |
Sultana begins to tire | Y |
And the top weight tells on the Sydney crack | I2 |
And the pace on the Gippsland flyer | Y |
- | |
The rowels as round the turn they sweep | J2 |
Just graze Tim Whiffler's flanks | B |
Like the hunted deer that flies through the sheep | J2 |
He strides through the beaten ranks | B |
Daughter of Omen prove your birth | K2 |
The colt will take lots of choking | G |
The hot breath steams at your saddle girth | K2 |
From his scarlet nostril smoking | G |
- | |
The shouts of the Ring for a space subside | O |
And slackens the bookmaker's roar | N |
Now Davis rally now Carter ride | O |
As man never rode before | N |
When Sparrowhawk's backers cease to cheer | H |
When Yattendon's friends are dumb | B2 |
When hushed is the clamour for Volunteer | H |
Alone in the race they come | B2 |
- | |
They're neck and neck they're head and head | L2 |
They're stroke for stroke in the running | G |
The whalebone whistles the steel is red | L2 |
No shirking as yet nor shunning | G |
One effort Seagull the blood you boast | M2 |
Should struggle when nerves are strained | N2 |
With a rush on the post by a neck at the most | M2 |
The verdict for Tim is gained | N2 |
- | |
Tim Whiffler wins Is blood alone | O2 |
The sine qua non for a flyer | Y |
The breed of his dam is a myth unknown | O2 |
And we've doubts respecting his sire | Y |
Yet few if any those proud names are | P2 |
On the pages of peerage or stud | Q2 |
In whose 'scutcheon lurks no sinister bar | P2 |
No taint of the base black blood | Q2 |
- | |
Aye Shorthouse laugh laugh loud and long | F2 |
For pedigree you're a sticker | Y |
You may be right I may be wrong | F2 |
Wiseacres both Let's liquor | Y |
Our common descent we may each recall | R2 |
To a lady of old caught tripping | G |
The fair one in fig leaves who d d us all | R2 |
For a bite at a golden pippin | S2 |
- | |
When first on this rocky ledge I lay | B |
There was scarce a ripple in yonder bay | B |
The air was serenely still | V |
Each column that sailed from my swarthy clay | B |
Hung loitering long ere it passed away | B |
Though the skies wore a tinge of leaden grey | B |
And the atmosphere was chill | V |
But the red sun sank to his evening shroud | W |
Where the western billows are roll'd | T2 |
Behind a curtain of sable cloud | W |
With a fringe of scarlet and gold | T2 |
There's a misty glare in the yellow moon | U2 |
And the drift is scudding fast | V2 |
There'll be storm and rattle and tempest soon | U2 |
When the heavens are overcast | V2 |
The neutral tint of the sullen sea | B |
Is fleck'd with the snowy foam | W2 |
And the distant gale sighs drearilie | V |
As the wanderer sighs for his home | W2 |
The white sea horses toss their manes | B |
On the bar of the southern reef | Q |
And the breakers moan and by Jove it rains | B |
I thought I should come to grief | Q |
Though it can't well damage my shabby hat | X2 |
Though my coat looks best when it's damp | Y2 |
Since the shaking I got no matter where at | X2 |
I've a mortal dread of the cramp | Y2 |
My matches are wet my pipe's put out | Z2 |
And the wind blows colder and stronger | Y |
I'll be stiff and sore and sorry no doubt | Z2 |
If I lie here any longer | Y |
Adam Lindsay Gordon
(1)
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