The Woodcutter's Hut Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABBCCBDEDEBFBGBGHIHJ BJGKDLDEMFMBEFENEAEM OPOBCCQELEEBIBERBRSB TBIBEEEEBLBOEEEECBCM ETBEE| Far up in the wild and wintery hills in the heart of the cliff broken | A |
| woods | B |
| Where the mounded drifts lie soft and deep in the noiseless solitudes | B |
| The hut of the lonely woodcutter stands a few rough beams that show | C |
| A blunted peak and a low black line from the glittering waste of snow | C |
| In the frost still dawn from his roof goes up in the windless | B |
| motionless air | D |
| The thin pink curl of leisurely smoke through the forest white and | E |
| bare | D |
| The woodcutter follows his narrow trail and the morning rings and | E |
| cracks | B |
| With the rhythmic jet of his sharp blown breath and the echoing shout of | F |
| his axe | B |
| Only the waft of the wind besides or the stir of some hardy bird | G |
| The call of the friendly chickadee or the pat of the nuthatch is | B |
| heard | G |
| Or a rustle comes from a dusky clump where the busy siskins feed | H |
| And scatter the dimpled sheet of the snow with the shells of the | I |
| cedar seed | H |
| Day after day the woodcutter toils untiring with axe and wedge | J |
| Till the jingling teams come up from the road that runs by the valley's | B |
| edge | J |
| With plunging of horses and hurling of snow and many a shouted word | G |
| And carry away the keen scented fruit of his cutting cord upon cord | K |
| Not the sound of a living foot comes else not a moving visitant there | D |
| Save the delicate step of some halting doe or the sniff of a prowling | L |
| bear | D |
| And only the stars are above him at night and the trees that creak and | E |
| groan | M |
| And the frozen hard swept mountain crests with their silent fronts of | F |
| stone | M |
| As he watches the sinking glow of his fire and the wavering flames | B |
| upcaught | E |
| Cleaning his rifle or mending his moccasins sleepy and slow of | F |
| thought | E |
| Or when the fierce snow comes with the rising wind from the grey | N |
| north east | E |
| He lies through the leaguering hours in his bunk like a winter hidden | A |
| beast | E |
| Or sits on the hard packed earth and smokes by his draught blown | M |
| guttering fire | O |
| Without thought or remembrance hardly awake and waits for the storm | P |
| to tire | O |
| Scarcely he hears from the rock rimmed heights to the wild ravines | B |
| below | C |
| Near and far off the limitless wings of the tempest hurl and go | C |
| In roaring gusts that plunge through the cracking forest and lull | Q |
| and lift | E |
| All day without stint and all night long with the sweep of the hissing | L |
| drift | E |
| But winter shall pass ere long with its hills of snow and its fettered | E |
| dreams | B |
| And the forest shall glimmer with living gold and chime with the | I |
| gushing of streams | B |
| Millions of little points of plants shall prick through its matted | E |
| floor | R |
| And the wind flower lift and uncurl her silken buds by the woodman's | B |
| door | R |
| The sparrow shall see and exult but lo as the spring draws gaily on | S |
| The woodcutter's hut is empty and bare and the master that made it is | B |
| gone | T |
| He is gone where the gathering of valley men another labour yields | B |
| To handle the plough and the harrow and scythe in the heat of the | I |
| summer fields | B |
| He is gone with his corded arms and his ruddy face and his moccasined | E |
| feet | E |
| The animal man in his warmth and vigour sound and hard and complete | E |
| And all summer long round the lonely hut the black earth burgeons and | E |
| breeds | B |
| Till the spaces are filled with the tall plumed ferns and the triumphing | L |
| forest weeds | B |
| The thick wild raspberries hem its walls and stretching on either | O |
| hand | E |
| The red ribbed stems and the giant leaves of the sovereign spikenard | E |
| stand | E |
| So lonely and silent it is so withered and warped with the sun and | E |
| snow | C |
| You would think it the fruit of some dead man's toil a hundred years | B |
| ago | C |
| And he who finds it suddenly there as he wanders far and alone | M |
| Is touched with a sweet and beautiful sense of something tender and | E |
| gone | T |
| The sense of a struggling life in the waste and the mark of a soul's | B |
| command | E |
| The going and coming of vanished feet the touch of a human hand | E |
Archibald Lampman
(1)
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