The Fruit Shop Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABABBCDCDEFGHGGIJIJJ KLKLLMNMNNOBOBBPQPQQ RSRTSKUKUVWXWXXYZYZY YA2B2A2B2B2C2D2C2E2D 2F2G2F2G2G2H2I2H2H2I 2J2I2K2J2E2L2J2L2L2M 2XM2XM2M2N2J2N2J2J2O 2P2O2P2O2O2YYJ2AJ2AJ 2J2Q2R2Q2R2R2S2O2S2S 2T2O2T2O2O2O2U2O2U2U 2J2O2J2O2O2V2CV2CCO2 O2O2O2O2O2KO2KO2O2O2 O2O2O2O2YKYKCKCross ribboned shoes a muslin gown | A |
High waisted girdled with bright blue | B |
A straw poke bonnet which hid the frown | A |
She pluckered her little brows into | B |
As she picked her dainty passage through | B |
The dusty street Ah Mademoiselle | C |
A dirty pathway we need rain | D |
My poor fruits suffer and the shell | C |
Of this nut's too big for its kernel lain | D |
Here in the sun it has shrunk again | E |
The baker down at the corner says | F |
We need a battle to shake the clouds | G |
But I am a man of peace my ways | H |
Don't look to the killing of men in crowds | G |
Poor fellows with guns and bayonets for shrouds | G |
Pray Mademoiselle come out of the sun | I |
Let me dust off that wicker chair It's cool | J |
In here for the green leaves I have run | I |
In a curtain over the door make a pool | J |
Of shade You see the pears on that stool | J |
The shadow keeps them plump and fair | K |
Over the fruiterer's door the leaves | L |
Held back the sun a greenish flare | K |
Quivered and sparked the shop the sheaves | L |
Of sunbeams glanced from the sign on the eaves | L |
Shot from the golden letters broke | M |
And splintered to little scattered lights | N |
Jeanne Tourmont entered the shop her poke | M |
Bonnet tilted itself to rights | N |
And her face looked out like the moon on nights | N |
Of flickering clouds Monsieur Popain I | O |
Want gooseberries an apple or two | B |
Or excellent plums but not if they're high | O |
Haven't you some which a strong wind blew | B |
I've only a couple of francs for you | B |
Monsieur Popain shrugged and rubbed his hands | P |
What could he do the times were sad | Q |
A couple of francs and such demands | P |
And asking for fruits a little bad | Q |
Wind blown indeed He never had | Q |
Anything else than the very best | R |
He pointed to baskets of blunted pears | S |
With the thin skin tight like a bursting vest | R |
All yellow and red and brown in smears | T |
Monsieur Popain's voice denoted tears | S |
He took up a pear with tender care | K |
And pressed it with his hardened thumb | U |
Smell it Mademoiselle the perfume there | K |
Is like lavender and sweet thoughts come | U |
Only from having a dish at home | V |
And those grapes They melt in the mouth like wine | W |
Just a click of the tongue and they burst to honey | X |
They're only this morning off the vine | W |
And I paid for them down in silver money | X |
The Corporal's widow is witness her pony | X |
Brought them in at sunrise to day | Y |
Those oranges Gold They're almost red | Z |
They seem little chips just broken away | Y |
From the sun itself Or perhaps instead | Z |
You'd like a pomegranate they're rarely gay | Y |
When you split them the seeds are like crimson spray | Y |
Yes they're high they're high and those Turkey figs | A2 |
They all come from the South and Nelson's ships | B2 |
Make it a little hard for our rigs | A2 |
They must be forever giving the slips | B2 |
To the cursed English and when men clips | B2 |
Through powder to bring them why dainties mounts | C2 |
A bit in price Those almonds now | D2 |
I'll strip off that husk when one discounts | C2 |
A life or two in a nigger row | E2 |
With the man who grew them it does seem how | D2 |
They would come dear and then the fight | F2 |
At sea perhaps our boats have heels | G2 |
And mostly they sail along at night | F2 |
But once in a way they're caught one feels | G2 |
Ivory's not better nor finer why peels | G2 |
From an almond kernel are worth two sous | H2 |
It's hard to sell them now he sighed | I2 |
Purses are tight but I shall not lose | H2 |
There's plenty of cheaper things to choose | H2 |
He picked some currants out of a wide | I2 |
Earthen bowl They make the tongue | J2 |
Almost fly out to suck them bride | I2 |
Currants they are they were planted long | K2 |
Ago for some new Marquise among | J2 |
Other great beauties before the Chateau | E2 |
Was left to rot Now the Gardener's wife | L2 |
He that marched off to his death at Marengo | J2 |
Sells them to me she keeps her life | L2 |
From snuffing out with her pruning knife | L2 |
She's a poor old thing but she learnt the trade | M2 |
When her man was young and the young Marquis | X |
Couldn't have enough garden The flowers he made | M2 |
All new And the fruits But 'twas said that he | X |
Was no friend to the people and so they laid | M2 |
Some charge against him a cavalcade | M2 |
Of citizens took him away they meant | N2 |
Well but I think there was some mistake | J2 |
He just pottered round in his garden bent | N2 |
On growing things we were so awake | J2 |
In those days for the New Republic's sake | J2 |
He's gone and the garden is all that's left | O2 |
Not in ruin but the currants and apricots | P2 |
And peaches furred and sweet with a cleft | O2 |
Full of morning dew in those green glazed pots | P2 |
Why Mademoiselle there is never an eft | O2 |
Or worm among them and as for theft | O2 |
How the old woman keeps them I cannot say | Y |
But they're finer than any grown this way | Y |
Jeanne Tourmont drew back the filigree ring | J2 |
Of her striped silk purse tipped it upside down | A |
And shook it two coins fell with a ding | J2 |
Of striking silver beneath her gown | A |
One rolled the other lay a thing | J2 |
Sparked white and sharply glistening | J2 |
In a drop of sunlight between two shades | Q2 |
She jerked the purse took its empty ends | R2 |
And crumpled them toward the centre braids | Q2 |
The whole collapsed to a mass of blends | R2 |
Of colours and stripes Monsieur Popain friends | R2 |
We have always been In the days before | S2 |
The Great Revolution my aunt was kind | O2 |
When you needed help You need no more | S2 |
'Tis we now who must beg at your door | S2 |
And will you refuse The little man | T2 |
Bustled denied his heart was good | O2 |
But times were hard He went to a pan | T2 |
And poured upon the counter a flood | O2 |
Of pungent raspberries tanged like wood | O2 |
He took a melon with rough green rind | O2 |
And rubbed it well with his apron tip | U2 |
Then he hunted over the shop to find | O2 |
Some walnuts cracking at the lip | U2 |
And added to these a barberry slip | U2 |
Whose acrid oval berries hung | J2 |
Like fringe and trembled He reached a round | O2 |
Basket with handles from where it swung | J2 |
Against the wall laid it on the ground | O2 |
And filled it then he searched and found | O2 |
The francs Jeanne Tourmont had let fall | V2 |
You'll return the basket Mademoiselle | C |
She smiled The next time that I call | V2 |
Monsieur You know that very well | C |
'Twas lightly said but meant to tell | C |
Monsieur Popain bowed somewhat abashed | O2 |
She took her basket and stepped out | O2 |
The sunlight was so bright it flashed | O2 |
Her eyes to blindness and the rout | O2 |
Of the little street was all about | O2 |
Through glare and noise she stumbled dazed | O2 |
The heavy basket was a care | K |
She heard a shout and almost grazed | O2 |
The panels of a chaise and pair | K |
The postboy yelled and an amazed | O2 |
Face from the carriage window gazed | O2 |
She jumped back just in time her heart | O2 |
Beating with fear Through whirling light | O2 |
The chaise departed but her smart | O2 |
Was keen and bitter In the white | O2 |
Dust of the street she saw a bright | O2 |
Streak of colours wet and gay | Y |
Red like blood Crushed but fair | K |
Her fruit stained the cobbles of the way | Y |
Monsieur Popain joined her there | K |
Tiens Mademoiselle | C |
c'est le General Bonaparte partant pour la Guerre | K |
Amy Lowell
(1)
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