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 2YZ2Y| Rest 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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