The Exeter Road Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCC DDEEFF GGHHII JJKKLL MMJJNN OOJJLL PPQQRR FFSSJJ PTPUUU FFJJFF

Panels of claret and blue which shineA
Under the moon like lees of wineA
A coronet done in a golden scrollB
And wheels which blunder and creak as they rollB
Through the muddy ruts of a moorland trackC
They daren't look backC
-
They are whipping and cursing the horses LordD
What brutes men are when they think they're scoredD
Behind my bay gelding gallops with meE
In a steaming sweat it is fine to seeE
That coach all claret and gold and blueF
Hop about and slueF
-
They are scared half out of their wits poor soulsG
For my lord has a casket full of rollsG
Of minted sovereigns and silver barsH
I laugh to think how he'll show his scarsH
In London to morrow He whines with rageI
In his varnished cageI
-
My lady has shoved her rings over her toesJ
'Tis an ancient trick every night rider knowsJ
But I shall relieve her of them yetK
When I see she limps in the minuetK
I must beg to celebrate this nightL
And the green moonlightL
-
There's nothing to hurry about the plainM
Is hours long and the mud's a strainM
My gelding's uncommonly strong in the loinsJ
In half an hour I'll bag the coinsJ
'Tis a clear sweet night on the turn of SpringN
The chase is the thingN
-
How the coach flashes and wobbles the moonO
Dripping down so quietly on it A tuneO
Is beating out of the curses and screamsJ
And the cracking all through the painted seamsJ
Steady old horse we'll keep it in sightL
'Tis a rare fine nightL
-
There's a clump of trees on the dip of the downP
And the sky shimmers where it hangs over the townP
It seems a shame to break the airQ
In two with this pistol but I've my shareQ
Of drudgery like other menR
His hat AmenR
-
Hold up you beast now what the devilF
Confound this moor for a pockholed evilF
Rotten marsh My right leg's snappedS
'Tis a mercy he's rolled but I'm nicely cappedS
A broken legged man and a broken legged horseJ
They'll get me of courseJ
-
The cursed coach will reach the townP
And they'll all come out every loafer grownT
A lion to handcuff a man that's downP
What's that Oh the coachman's bulleted hatU
I'll give it a head to fit it patU
Thank you No cravatU
-
-
They handcuffed the body just for styleF
And they hung him in chains for the volatileF
Wind to scour him flesh from bonesJ
Way out on the moor you can hear the groansJ
His gibbet makes when it blows a galeF
'Tis a common taleF

Amy Lowell



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About The Exeter Road

The Exeter Road is a poem by Amy Lowell. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.



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