The Trumpet-vine Arbour Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCDCEFGGH BGAIJKLMNOPMMQRSTUVW MTXYZBDA2B2A2C2D2| The throats of the little red trumpet flowers are wide open | A |
| And the clangour of brass beats against the hot sunlight | B |
| They bray and blare at the burning sky | C |
| Red Red Coarse notes of red | D |
| Trumpeted at the blue sky | C |
| In long streaks of sound molten metal | E |
| The vine declares itself | F |
| Clang from its red and yellow trumpets | G |
| Clang from its long nasal trumpets | G |
| Splitting the sunlight into ribbons tattered and shot with noise | H |
| - | |
| I sit in the cool arbour in a green and gold twilight | B |
| It is very still for I cannot hear the trumpets | G |
| I only know that they are red and open | A |
| And that the sun above the arbour shakes with heat | I |
| My quill is newly mended | J |
| And makes fine drawn lines with its point | K |
| Down the long white paper it makes little lines | L |
| Just lines up down criss cross | M |
| My heart is strained out at the pin point of my quill | N |
| It is thin and writhing like the marks of the pen | O |
| My hand marches to a squeaky tune | P |
| It marches down the paper to a squealing of fifes | M |
| My pen and the trumpet flowers | M |
| And Washington's armies away over the smoke tree to the Southwest | Q |
| Yankee Doodle my Darling It is you against the British | R |
| Marching in your ragged shoes to batter down King George | S |
| What have you got in your hat Not a feather I wager | T |
| 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 | M |
| The red city and the blue bright water | T |
| 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 | B |
| To day the trumpet flowers are red red | D |
| 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 |
Amy Lowell
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