The Two Dreams Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEFGGHHGGG GIIJKGGGGLMGGNOP QGGRFSSTTUUGG GGGGGGIIVVWWXXYYII VZA2FIIXXXX IIYKB2B2IIC2C2XXIIII D2E2IIF2IIIXXI IIIIIIIG2G2IIF2F2G2G 2XXXXH2H2IIV VXXAAA2A2IIH2H2VVXXB 2B2 I2I2IIIIHHJ2J2XXIIXX XXH2H2 XXIIIIVVIIA2A2XXA2

I WILL that if I say a heavy thingA
Your tongues forgive me seeing ye know that springA
Has flecks and fits of pain to keep her sweetB
And walks somewhile with winter bitten feetB
Moreover it sounds often well to letC
One string when ye play music keep at fretC
The whole song through one petal that is deadD
Confirms the roses be they white or redD
Dead sorrow is not sorrowful to hearE
As the thick noise that breaks mid weeping wereF
The sick sound aching in a lifted throatG
Turns to sharp silver of a perfect noteG
And though the rain falls often and with rainH
Late autumn falls on the old red leaves like painH
I deem that God is not disquietedG
Also while men are fed with wine and breadG
They shall be fed with sorrow at his handG
-
There grew a rose garden in Florence landG
More fair than many all red summers throughI
The leaves smelt sweet and sharp of rain and blewI
Sideways with tender wind and therein fellJ
Sweet sound wherewith the green waxed audibleK
As a bird s will to sing disturbed his throatG
And set the sharp wings forward like a boatG
Pushed through soft water moving his brown sideG
Smooth shapen as a maid s and shook with prideG
His deep warm bosom till the heavy sun sL
Set face of heat stopped all the songs at onceM
The ways were clean to walk and delicateG
And when the windy white of March grew lateG
Before the trees took heart to face the sunN
With ravelled raiment of lean winter onO
The roots were thick and hot with hollow grassP
-
Some roods away a lordly house there wasQ
Cool with broad courts and latticed passage wetG
From rush flowers and lilies ripe to setG
Sown close among the strewings of the floorR
And either wall of the slow corridorF
Was dim with deep device of gracious thingsS
Some angel s steady mouth and weight of wingsS
Shut to the side or Peter with straight stoleT
And beard cut black against the aureoleT
That spanned his head from nape to crown therebyU
Mary s gold hair thick to the girdle tieU
Wherein was bound a child with tender feetG
Or the broad cross with blood nigh brown on itG
-
Within this house a righteous lord abodeG
Ser Averardo patient of his moodG
And just of judgment and to child he hadG
A maid so sweet that her mere sight made gladG
Men sorrowing and unbound the brows of hateG
And where she came the lips that pain made straitG
Waxed warm and wide and from untender grewI
Tender as those that sleep brings patience toI
Such long locks had she that with knee to chinV
She might have wrapped and warmed her feet thereinV
Right seldom fell her face on weeping wiseW
Gold hair she had and golden coloured eyesW
Filled with clear light and fire and large reposeX
Like a fair hound s no man there is but knowsX
Her face was white and thereto she was tallY
In no wise lacked there any praise at allY
To her most perfect and pure maidenhoodI
No sin I think there was in all her bloodI
-
She where a gold grate shut the roses inV
Dwelt daily through deep summer weeks through greenZ
Hushed hours of rain upon the leaves and thereA2
Love made him room and space to worship herF
With tender worship of bowed knees and wroughtI
Such pleasure as the pained sense palates notI
For weariness but at one taste undoesX
The heart of its strong sweet is ravenousX
Of all the hidden honey words and senseX
Fail through the tune s imperious prevalenceX
-
In a poor house this lover kept apartI
Long communing with patience next his heartI
If love of his might move that face at allY
Tuned evenwise with colours musicalK
Then after length of days he said thus LoveB2
For love s own sake and for the love thereofB2
Let no harsh words untune your gracious moodI
For good it were if anything be goodI
To comfort me in this pain s plague of mineC2
Seeing thus how neither sleep nor bread nor wineC2
Seems pleasant to me yea no thing that isX
Seems pleasant to me only I know thisX
Love s ways are sharp for palms of piteous feetI
To travel but the end of such is sweetI
Now do with me as seemeth you the bestI
She mused a little as one holds his guestI
By the hand musing with her face borne downD2
Then said Yea though such bitter seed be sownE2
Have no more care of all that you have saidI
Since if there is no sleep will bind your headI
Lo I am fain to help you certainlyF2
Christ knoweth sir if I would have you dieI
There is no pleasure when a man is deadI
Thereat he kissed her hands and yellow headI
And clipped her fair long body many timesX
I have no wit to shape in written rhymesX
A scanted tithe of this great joy they hadI
-
They were too near love s secret to be gladI
As whoso deems the core will surely meltI
From the warm fruit his lips caress hath feltI
Some bitter kernel where the teeth shut hardI
Or as sweet music sharpens afterwardI
Being half disrelished both for sharp and sweetI
As sea water having killed over heatI
In a man s body chills it with faint acheG2
So their sense burdened only for love s sakeG2
Failed for pure love yet so time served their witI
They saved each day some gold reserves of itI
Being wiser in love s riddle than such beF2
Whom fragments feed with his chance charityF2
All things felt sweet were felt sweet overmuchG2
The rose thorn s prickle dangerous to touchG2
And flecks of fire in the thin leaf shadowsX
Too keen the breath d honey of the roseX
Its red too harsh a weight on feasted eyesX
They were so far gone in love s historiesX
Beyond all shape and colour and mere breathH2
Where pleasure has for kinsfolk sleep and deathH2
And strength of soul and body waxen blindI
For weariness and flesh entoiled with mindI
When the keen edge of sense foretasteth sinV
-
Even this green place the summer caught them inV
Seemed half deflowered and sick with beaten leavesX
In their strayed eyes these gold flower fum d evesX
Burnt out to make the sun s love offeringA
The midnoon s prayer the rose s thanksgivingA
The trees weight burdening the strengthless airA2
The shape of her stilled eyes her coloured hairA2
Her body s balance from the moving feetI
All this found fair lacked yet one grain of sweetI
It had some warm weeks back so perishethH2
On May s new lip the tender April breathH2
So those same walks the wind sowed lilies inV
All April through and all their latter kinV
Of languid leaves whereon the autumn blowsX
The dead red raiment of the last year s roseX
The last year s laurel and the last year s loveB2
Fade and grow things that death grows weary ofB2
-
What man will gather in red summer timeI2
The fruit of some obscure and hoary rhymeI2
Heard last midwinter taste the heart in itI
Mould the smooth semitones afresh refitI
The fair limbs ruined flush the dead blood throughI
With colour make all broken beauties newI
For love s new lesson shall not such find painH
When the marred music labouring in his brainH
Frets him with sweet sharp fragments and lets slipJ2
One word that might leave satisfied his lipJ2
One touch that might put fire in all the chordsX
This was her pain to miss from all sweet wordsX
Some taste of sound diverse and delicateI
Some speech the old love found out to compensateI
For seasons of shut lips and drowsinessX
Some grace some word the old love found out to blessX
Passionless months and undelighted weeksX
The flowers had lost their summer scented cheeksX
Their lips were no more sweet than daily breathH2
The year was plagued with instances of deathH2
-
So fell it these were sitting in cool grassX
With leaves about and many a bird there wasX
Where the green shadow thickliest impleachedI
Soft fruit and writhen spray and blossom bleachedI
Dry in the sun or washed with rains to whiteI
Her girdle was pure silk the bosom brightI
With purple as purple water and gold wrought inV
One branch had touched with dusk her lips and chinV
Made violet of the throat abashed with shadeI
The breast s bright plaited work but nothing frayedI
The sun s large kiss on the luxurious hairA2
Her beauty was new colour to the airA2
And music to the silent many birdsX
Love was an hungred for some perfect wordsX
To praiA2

Algernon Charles Swinburne



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