Messidor Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Put in the sickles and reap	A
For the morning of harvest is red	B
And the long large ranks of the corn	C
Coloured and clothed as the morn	C
Stand thick in the fields and deep	A
For them that faint to be fed	B
Let all that hunger and weep	A
Come hither and who would have bread	B
Put in the sickles and reap	A
	-
Coloured and clothed as the morn	C
The grain grows ruddier than gold	D
And the good strong sun is alight	E
In the mists of the day dawn white	E
And the crescent a faint sharp horn	C
In the fear of his face turns cold	D
As the snakes of the night time that creep	A
From the flag of our faith unrolled	D
Put in the sickles and reap	A
	-
In the mists of the day dawn white	D
That roll round the morning star	F
The large flame lightens and grows	G
Till the red gold harvest rows	G
Full grown are full of the light	D
As the spirits of strong men are	F
Crying Who shall slumber or sleep	A
Who put back morning or mar	F
Put in the sickles and reap	A
	-
Till the red gold harvest rows	G
For miles through shudder and shine	H
In the wind's breath fed with the sun	I
A thousand spear heads as one	I
Bowed as for battle to close	J
Line in rank against line	H
With place and station to keep	A
Till all men's hands at a sign	H
Put in the sickles and reap	A
	-
A thousand spear heads as one	I
Wave as with swing of the sea	K
When the mid tide sways at its height	D
For the hour is for harvest or fight	D
In face of the just calm sun	I
As the signal in season may be	K
And the lot in the helm may leap	A
When chance shall shake it but ye	K
Put in the sickles and reap	A
	-
For the hour is for harvest or fight	D
To clothe with raiment of red	D
O men sore stricken of hours	L
Lo this one is not it ours	L
To glean to gather to smite	D
Let none make risk of his head	D
Within reach of the clean scythe sweep	A
When the people that lay as the dead	D
Put in the sickles and reap	A
	-
Lo this one is not it ours	L
Now the ruins of dead things rattle	M
As dead men's bones in the pit	D
Now the kings wax lean as they sit	D
Girt round with memories of powers	L
With musters counted as cattle	M
And armies folded as sheep	A
Till the red blind husbandman battle	M
Put in the sickles and reap	A
	-
Now the kings wax lean as they sit	D
The people grow strong to stand	D
The men they trod on and spat	D
The dumb dread people that sat	D
As corpses cast in a pit	D
Rise up with God at their hand	D
And thrones are hurled on a heap	A
And strong men sons of the land	D
Put in the sickles and reap	A
	-
The dumb dread people that sat	D
All night without screen for the night	D
All day without food for the day	D
They shall give not their harvest away	D
They shall eat of its fruit and wax fat	D
They shall see the desire of their sight	D
Though the ways of the seasons be steep	A
They shall climb with face to the light	D
Put in the sickles and reap	A

Algernon Charles Swinburne

Messidor Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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