A Sequence Of Sonnets On The Death Of Robert Browning Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCCBBCCB DDEDEE AFDDFFDDFGGHGHH AIDDIIDDIJJKJKK ILMMLLMML IIAIAA MNDDNNDDNDDNDNN ADOODDOODMMIMII IDPPDDPPDMMQMQQ

IA
The clearest eyes in all the world they readB
With sense more keen and spirit of sight more trueC
Than burns and thrills in sunrise when the dewC
Flames and absorbs the glory round it shedB
As they the light of ages quick and deadB
Closed now forsake us yet the shaft that slewC
Can slay not one of all the works we knewC
Nor death discrown that many laurelled headB
-
The works of words whose life seems lightning wroughtD
And moulded of unconquerable thoughtD
And quickened with imperishable flameE
Stand fast and shine and smile assured that noughtD
May fade of all their myriad moulded fameE
Nor England's memory clasp not Browning's nameE
-
IIA
Death what hast thou to do with one for whomF
Time is not lord but servant What least partD
Of all the fire that fed his living heartD
Of all the light more keen that sundawn's bloomF
That lit and led his spirit strong as doomF
And bright as hope can aught thy breath may dartD
Quench Nay thou knowest he knew thee what thou artD
A shadow born of terror's barren wombF
That brings not forth save shadows What art thouG
To dream albeit thou breathe upon his browG
That power on him is given thee that thy breathH
Can make him less than love acclaims him nowG
And hears all time sound back the word it saithH
What part hast thou then in his glory DeathH
-
IIIA
A graceless doom it seems that bids us grieveI
Venice and winter hand in deadly handD
Have slain the lover of her sunbright strandD
And singer of a stormbright Christmas EveI
A graceless guerdon we that loved receiveI
For all our love from that the dearest landD
Love worshipped ever Blithe and soft and blandD
Too fair for storm to scathe or fire to cleaveI
Shone on our dreams and memories evermoreJ
The domes the towers the mountains and the shoreJ
That gird or guard thee Venice cold and blackK
Seems now the face we loved as he of yoreJ
We have given thee love no stint no stay no lackK
What gift what gift is this thou hast given us backK
-
IVI
But he to him who knows what gift is thineL
Death Hardly may we think or hope when weM
Pass likewise thither where to night is heM
Beyond the irremeable outer seas that shineL
And darken round such dreams as half divineL
Some sunlit harbour in that starless seaM
Where gleams no ship to windward or to leeM
To read with him the secret of thy shrineL
-
There too as here may song delight and loveI
The nightingale the sea bird and the doveI
Fulfil with joy the splendour of the skyA
Till all beneath wax bright as all aboveI
But none of all that search the heavens and tryA
The sun may match the sovereign eagle's eyeA
-
VM
Among the wondrous ways of men and timeN
He went as one that ever found and soughtD
And bore in hand the lamp like spirit of thoughtD
To illume with instance of its fire sublimeN
The dusk of many a cloudlike age and climeN
No spirit in shape of light and darkness wroughtD
No faith no fear no dream no rapture noughtD
That blooms in wisdom nought that burns in crimeN
No virtue girt and armed and helmed with lightD
No love more lovely than the snows are whiteD
No serpent sleeping in some dead soul's tombN
No song bird singing from some live soul's heightD
But he might hear interpret or illumeN
With sense invasive as the dawn of doomN
-
VIA
What secret thing of splendour or of shadeD
Surmised in all those wandering ways whereinO
Man led of love and life and death and sinO
Strays climbs or cowers allured absorbed afraidD
Might not the strong and sunlike sense invadeD
Of that full soul that had for aim to winO
Light silent over time's dark toil and dinO
Life at whose touch death fades as dead things fadeD
O spirit of man what mystery moves in theeM
That he might know not of in spirit and seeM
The heart within the heart that seems to striveI
The life within the life that seems to beM
And hear through all thy storms that whirl and driveI
The living sound of all men's souls aliveI
-
VIII
He held no dream worth waking so he saidD
He who stands now on death's triumphal steepP
Awakened out of life wherein we sleepP
And dream of what he knows and sees being deadD
But never death for him was dark or dreadD
Look forth he bade the soul and fear not WeepP
All ye that trust not in his truth and keepP
Vain memory's vision of a vanished headD
As all that lives of all that once was heM
Save that which lightens from his word but weM
Who seeing the sunset coloured waters rollQ
Yet know the sun subdued not of the seaM
Nor weep nor doubt that still the spirit is wholeQ
And life and death but shadows of the soulQ

Algernon Charles Swinburne



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