1777 Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A B CDAEAFGHHI DHCJKLMNOPQNNRSTBUVW NBXYZDEA2B2A2C2D2 A N E2NF2E2BPNNNNCG2H2NF 2F2 I2FJ2K2A2L2NNGD2A2M2 FN2Y NO2 I2P2I2I2 CNQ2R2ND2S2T2R2BG2NI 2U2P2 E2I2NNNI2V2N2I2NNCP2 G2E2NNT2R2BN2I2W2I2N FBX2NNNI2CI2NNNNNI2R 2I2NE2BE2F2F2 NNQY2B2R2NI2NBNR2R2N NNZ2I2I2NF2F2E2BE2I | A |
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The Trumpet Vine Arbour | B |
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The throats of the little red trumpet flowers are wide open | C |
And the clangour of brass beats against the hot sunlight | D |
They bray and blare at the burning sky | A |
Red Red Coarse notes of red | E |
Trumpeted at the blue sky | A |
In long streaks of sound molten metal | F |
The vine declares itself | G |
Clang from its red and yellow trumpets | H |
Clang from its long nasal trumpets | H |
Splitting the sunlight into ribbons tattered and shot with noise | I |
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I sit in the cool arbour in a green and gold twilight | D |
It is very still for I cannot hear the trumpets | H |
I only know that they are red and open | C |
And that the sun above the arbour shakes with heat | J |
My quill is newly mended | K |
And makes fine drawn lines with its point | L |
Down the long white paper it makes little lines | M |
Just lines up down criss cross | N |
My heart is strained out at the pin point of my quill | O |
It is thin and writhing like the marks of the pen | P |
My hand marches to a squeaky tune | Q |
It marches down the paper to a squealing of fifes | N |
My pen and the trumpet flowers | N |
And Washington's armies away over the smoke tree to the Southwest | R |
'Yankee Doodle ' my Darling It is you against the British | S |
Marching in your ragged shoes to batter down King George | T |
What have you got in your hat Not a feather I wager | B |
Just a hay straw for it is the harvest you are fighting for | U |
Hay in your hat and the whites of their eyes for a target | V |
Like Bunker Hill two years ago when I watched all day from the house top | W |
Through Father's spy glass | N |
The red city and the blue bright water | B |
And puffs of smoke which you made | X |
Twenty miles away | Y |
Round by Cambridge or over the Neck | Z |
But the smoke was white white | D |
To day the trumpet flowers are red red | E |
And I cannot see you fighting | A2 |
But old Mr Dimond has fled to Canada | B2 |
And Myra sings 'Yankee Doodle' at her milking | A2 |
The red throats of the trumpets bray and clang in the sunshine | C2 |
And the smoke tree puffs dun blossoms into the blue air | D2 |
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II | A |
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The City of Falling Leaves | N |
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Leaves fall | E2 |
Brown leaves | N |
Yellow leaves streaked with brown | F2 |
They fall | E2 |
Flutter | B |
Fall again | P |
The brown leaves | N |
And the streaked yellow leaves | N |
Loosen on their branches | N |
And drift slowly downwards | N |
One | C |
One two three | G2 |
One two five | H2 |
All Venice is a falling of Autumn leaves | N |
Brown | F2 |
And yellow streaked with brown | F2 |
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'That sonnet Abate | I2 |
Beautiful | F |
I am quite exhausted by it | J2 |
Your phrases turn about my heart | K2 |
And stifle me to swooning | A2 |
Open the window I beg | L2 |
Lord What a strumming of fiddles and mandolins | N |
'Tis really a shame to stop indoors | N |
Call my maid or I will make you lace me yourself | G |
Fie how hot it is not a breath of air | D2 |
See how straight the leaves are falling | A2 |
Marianna I will have the yellow satin caught up with silver fringe | M2 |
It peeps out delightfully from under a mantle | F |
Am I well painted to day caro Abate mio' | N2 |
You will be proud of me at the Ridotto' hey | Y |
Proud of being Cavalier Servente' to such a lady ' | - |
'Can you doubt it Bellissima Contessa' | N |
A pinch more rouge on the right cheek | O2 |
And Venus herself shines less ' | - |
'You bore me Abate | I2 |
I vow I must change you | P2 |
A letter Achmet | I2 |
Run and look out of the window Abate | I2 |
I will read my letter in peace ' | - |
The little black slave with the yellow satin turban | C |
Gazes at his mistress with strained eyes | N |
His yellow turban and black skin | Q2 |
Are gorgeous barbaric | R2 |
The yellow satin dress with its silver flashings | N |
Lies on a chair | D2 |
Beside a black mantle and a black mask | S2 |
Yellow and black | T2 |
Gorgeous barbaric | R2 |
The lady reads her letter | B |
And the leaves drift slowly | G2 |
Past the long windows | N |
'How silly you look my dear Abate | I2 |
With that great brown leaf in your wig | U2 |
Pluck it off I beg you | P2 |
Or I shall die of laughing ' | - |
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A yellow wall | E2 |
Aflare in the sunlight | I2 |
Chequered with shadows | N |
Shadows of vine leaves | N |
Shadows of masks | N |
Masks coming printing themselves for an instant | I2 |
Then passing on | V2 |
More masks always replacing them | N2 |
Masks with tricorns and rapiers sticking out behind | I2 |
Pursuing masks with plumes and high heels | N |
The sunlight shining under their insteps | N |
One | C |
One two | P2 |
One two three | G2 |
There is a thronging of shadows on the hot wall | E2 |
Filigreed at the top with moving leaves | N |
Yellow sunlight and black shadows | N |
Yellow and black | T2 |
Gorgeous barbaric | R2 |
Two masks stand together | B |
And the shadow of a leaf falls through them | N2 |
Marking the wall where they are not | I2 |
From hat tip to shoulder tip | W2 |
From elbow to sword hilt | I2 |
The leaf falls | N |
The shadows mingle | F |
Blur together | B |
Slide along the wall and disappear | X2 |
Gold of mosaics and candles | N |
And night blackness lurking in the ceiling beams | N |
Saint Mark's glitters with flames and reflections | N |
A cloak brushes aside | I2 |
And the yellow of satin | C |
Licks out over the coloured inlays of the pavement | I2 |
Under the gold crucifixes | N |
There is a meeting of hands | N |
Reaching from black mantles | N |
Sighing embraces bold investigations | N |
Hide in confessionals | N |
Sheltered by the shuffling of feet | I2 |
Gorgeous barbaric | R2 |
In its mail of jewels and gold | I2 |
Saint Mark's looks down at the swarm of black masks | N |
And outside in the palace gardens brown leaves fall | E2 |
Flutter | B |
Fall | E2 |
Brown | F2 |
And yellow streaked with brown | F2 |
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Blue black the sky over Venice | N |
With a pricking of yellow stars | N |
There is no moon | Q |
And the waves push darkly against the prow | Y2 |
Of the gondola | B2 |
Coming from Malamocco | R2 |
And streaming toward Venice | N |
It is black under the gondola hood | I2 |
But the yellow of a satin dress | N |
Glares out like the eye of a watching tiger | B |
Yellow compassed about with darkness | N |
Yellow and black | R2 |
Gorgeous barbaric | R2 |
The boatman sings | N |
It is Tasso that he sings | N |
The lovers seek each other beneath their mantles | N |
And the gondola drifts over the lagoon aslant to the coming dawn | Z2 |
But at Malamocco in front | I2 |
In Venice behind | I2 |
Fall the leaves | N |
Brown | F2 |
And yellow streaked with brown | F2 |
They fall | E2 |
Flutter | B |
Fall | E2 |
Amy Lowell
(1)
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