Autumn. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis


If seasons like the human race had soulsA
Then two artistic spirits live withinB
The Chameleon mind of Autumn theseC
The Poet's mentor and the Painter's guideD
The myriad thoughted phases of the mindE
Are truly represented by the huesF
That thrill the forests with prophetic fireG
And what could painter's skill compared to theseC
What palette ever held the flaming tintsH
That on these leafy hieroglyphs foretellI
How set the ebbing currents of the yearJ
What poet's page was ever like to thisK
Or told the lesson of life's waning daysL
More forcibly with more of natural truthM
Than yon red maples or these poplars whiteN
As the pale shroud that wraps some human corseO
And then again the spirit of a KingP
Clothed with that majesty most monarchs lackQ
Might fit old Autumn for his royal ruleR
For here is kingly ermine cloth of goldS
And purple robes well worthy to be wornT
By the best monarch that e'er donned a crownU
Proclaim him Royal Autumn Poet KingP
The Laureate of the Seasons whose rare songsV
Are such as lyrist never hoped to flingP
On the fine ear of an admiring worldW
Autumn the Poet Painter and true KingP
His gorgeous Ideality speaks forthX
From the rare colors of the changing leavesY
And the ripe blood that swells his purple veinsZ
Is as the glowing of a sacred fireG
He walks with Shelley's spirit on the cliffsA2
Of the Ethereal Caucasus and o'erG
The summits of the Euganean hillsB2
And meets the soul of Wordsworth in profoundC2
And philosophic meditation raptD2
In some great dream of love towardsE2
The human race The cheery Spring may comeF2
And touch the dreaming flowers into lifeG2
Summer expand her leafy sea of greenH2
And wake the joyful wilderness to songI2
As a fair hand strikes music from a lyreJ2
But Autumn from its daybreak to its closeK2
Setting in florid beauty like the sunL2
Robed with rare brightness and ethereal flameM2
Holds all the year's ripe fruitage in its handsN2
And dies with songs of praise upon its lipsO2
And then the Indian Summer bland as JuneP2
Some Tuscarora King Algonquin SeerQ2
Or Huron Chief returned to smoke the PipeR2
Of Peace upon the ancient hunting groundsS2
The mighty shade in spirit walking forthX
To feel the beauty of his native woodsT2
Flashing in Autumn vestures or to markU2
The scanty remnants of the scattered tribesV2
Wending towards their graves Few Braves are leftW2
Few mighty Hunters fewer stately ChiefsX2
Like great Tecumseth fit to take the fieldY2
And lead the tribes to certain victoryZ2
Choosing annihilation to defeatA3
But having run thy gauntlet of their daysL
This Autumn remnant of some unknown raceB3
Nearing the Winter of their sad decayC3
Fall like dry leaves into the lap of TimeD3
Their old trunks sapless their tough branches bareE3
And Fate's shrill war whoop thund'ring at their heelsF3

Charles Sangster


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