Artemis In Sierra Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A B CDEDE FGHGH CFIFI BJBKJ FJF CLFK FLMNO CMN PQN FRR CGRG FS CFTFT RGRG U FVTFT BWBW CX FFYFY B CZ FFA2B2 BC2A2 GIGI CC FX BMHMH CX BF FB BH| Dramatis Person | A |
| - | |
| Poet Philosopher Jones of Mariposa | B |
| - | |
| - | |
| - | |
| Poet | C |
| Halt Here we are Now wheel your mare a trifle | D |
| Just where you stand then doff your hat and swear | E |
| Never yet was scene you might cover with your rifle | D |
| Half as complete or as marvelously fair | E |
| - | |
| Philosopher | F |
| Dropped from Olympus or lifted out of Tempe | G |
| Swung like a censer betwixt the earth and sky | H |
| He who in Greece sang of flocks and flax and hemp he | G |
| Here might recall them six thousand feet on high | H |
| - | |
| Poet | C |
| Well you may say so The clamor of the river | F |
| Hum of base toil and man's ignoble strife | I |
| Halt far below where the stifling sunbeams quiver | F |
| But never climb to this purer higher life | I |
| - | |
| Not to this glade where Jones of Mariposa | B |
| Simple and meek as his flocks we're looking at | J |
| Tends his soft charge nor where his daughter Rosa | B |
| A shot | K |
| Hallo What's that | J |
| - | |
| Philosopher | F |
| A something thro' my hat | J |
| Bullet I think You were speaking of his daughter | F |
| - | |
| Poet | C |
| Yes but your hat you were moving through the leaves | L |
| Likely he thought it some eagle bent on slaughter | F |
| Lightly he shoots A second shot | K |
| - | |
| Philosopher | F |
| As one readily perceives | L |
| Still he improves This time your hat has got it | M |
| Quite near the band Eh Oh just as you please | N |
| Stop or go on | O |
| - | |
| Poet | C |
| Perhaps we'd better trot it | M |
| Down through the hollow and up among the trees | N |
| - | |
| Both | P |
| Trot trot trot where the bullets cannot follow | Q |
| Trot down and up again among the laurel trees | N |
| - | |
| Philosopher | F |
| Thanks that is better now of this shot dispensing | R |
| Jones and his girl you were saying | R |
| - | |
| Poet | C |
| Well you see | G |
| I hang it all Oh what's the use of fencing | R |
| Sir I confess it these shots were meant for me | G |
| - | |
| Philosopher | F |
| Are you mad | S |
| - | |
| Poet | C |
| God knows I shouldn't wonder | F |
| I love this coy nymph who coldly as yon peak | T |
| Shines on the river it feeds yet keeps asunder | F |
| Long have I worshiped but never dared to speak | T |
| - | |
| Till she no doubt her love no longer hiding | R |
| Waked by some chance word her father's jealousy | G |
| Slips her disdain as an avalanche down gliding | R |
| Sweeps flocks and kin away to clear a path for me | G |
| - | |
| Hence his attack | U |
| - | |
| Philosopher | F |
| I see What I admire | V |
| Chiefly I think in your idyl so to speak | T |
| Is the cool modesty that checks your youthful fire | F |
| Absence of self love and abstinence of cheek | T |
| - | |
| Still I might mention I've met the gentle Rosa | B |
| Danced with her thrice to her father's jealous dread | W |
| And it is possible she's happened to disclose a | B |
| Ahem You can fancy why he shoots at me instead | W |
| - | |
| Poet | C |
| You | X |
| - | |
| Philosopher | F |
| Me But kindly take your hand from your revolver | F |
| I am not choleric but accidents may chance | Y |
| And here's the father who alone can be the solver | F |
| Of this twin riddle of the hat and the romance | Y |
| - | |
| Enter Jones of Mariposa | B |
| - | |
| Poet | C |
| Speak shepherd mine | Z |
| - | |
| Philosopher | F |
| Hail Time and cartridge waster | F |
| Aimless exploder of theories and skill | A2 |
| Whom do you shoot | B2 |
| - | |
| Jones of Mariposa | B |
| Well shootin' ain't my taste or | C2 |
| Ef I shoot anything I only shoot to kill | A2 |
| - | |
| That ain't what's up I only kem to tell ye | G |
| Sportin' or courtin' trot homeward for your life | I |
| Gals will be gals and p'r'aps it's just ez well ye | G |
| Larned there was one had no wish to be a wife | I |
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| Poet | C |
| What | C |
| - | |
| Philosopher | F |
| Is this true | X |
| - | |
| Jones of Mariposa | B |
| I reckon it looks like it | M |
| She saw ye comin' My gun was standin' by | H |
| She made a grab and 'fore I up could strike it | M |
| Blazed at ye both The critter is so shy | H |
| - | |
| Poet | C |
| Who | X |
| - | |
| Jones of Mariposa | B |
| My darter | F |
| - | |
| Philosopher | F |
| Rosa | B |
| - | |
| Jones of Mariposa | B |
| Same Good by | H |
Bret Harte (francis)
(1)
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