The Sands Of Dee Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AAABAC DDDCDC EEE EC AAACAC| 'O Mary go and call the cattle home | A |
| And call the cattle home | A |
| And call the cattle home | A |
| Across the sands of Dee ' | B |
| The western wind was wild and dark with foam | A |
| And all alone went she | C |
| - | |
| The western tide crept up along the sand | D |
| And o'er and o'er the sand | D |
| And round and round the sand | D |
| As far as eye could see | C |
| The rolling mist came down and hid the land | D |
| And never home came she | C |
| - | |
| 'O is it weed or fish or floating hair | E |
| A tress of golden hair | E |
| A drown egrave d maiden's hair | E |
| Above the nets at sea ' | - |
| Was never salmon yet that shone so fair | E |
| Among the stakes of Dee | C |
| - | |
| They row'd her in across the rolling foam | A |
| The cruel crawling foam | A |
| The cruel hungry foam | A |
| To her grave beside the sea | C |
| But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home | A |
| Across the sands of Dee | C |
Charles Kingsley
(2)
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Write your comment about The Sands Of Dee poem by Charles Kingsley
Emerson chase: Was taught this poem at St Matthias School in Barbados back in the 1960s. What a great poem.
Md Alauddin Ahmed: This poem is favorite to me always, thanks
Abrar: What type of fig of speech is cruel crawling?
Pijush Banerjee: The western wind was wild and DANK with foam "....not DARK with foam ,as I read in school several years back .
Pl correct.
Pijush Banerjee: The western wind was wild and "DANK "with foam .....
as I read in my school.
Riya Afreen : Its a very sad rhyme
Mateen: Poem made me recall days of my Intermediate classes when we were taught this poem. Since then "Sands of Dee" are a mystery for me.
colin mitchell: One of my favourite poems by Charles Kingsley. I was born and raised on the Wirral and this poem brings back memories of the seas around Brighton, the River Dee and the tides that came in from the Irish Sea.
C. W. Mitchell: One of the most haunting poems I have ever read. Charles Kingsley captures the loneliness of the cold sea, the dankness of a barren shore. I can almost smell the sand mingled with the aroma of rotting seaweed (or is it hair, a drowned maidens hair). It matters not, for ne'er home came she. My God. I just felt shivers down my spine.
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