The Wild Common Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABAB CDCD EEEF GHGH IJIJ KLKL MNMN OPOQ| The quick sparks on the gorse bushes are leaping | A |
| Little jets of sunlight texture imitating flame | B |
| Above them exultant the pee wits are sweeping | A |
| They are lords of the desolate wastes of sadness their screamings proclaim | B |
| - | |
| Rabbits handfuls of brown earth lie | C |
| Low rounded on the mournful grass they have bitten down to the quick | D |
| Are they asleep Are they alive Now see when I | C |
| Move my arms the hill bursts and heaves under their spurting kick | D |
| - | |
| The common flaunts bravely but below from the rushes | E |
| Crowds of glittering king cups surge to challenge the blossoming bushes | E |
| There the lazy streamlet pushes | E |
| Its curious course mildly here it wakes again leaps laughs and gushes | F |
| - | |
| Into a deep pond an old sheep dip | G |
| Dark overgrown with willows cool with the brook ebbing through so slow | H |
| Naked on the steep soft lip | G |
| Of the bank I stand watching my own white shadow quivering to and fro | H |
| - | |
| What if the gorse flowers shrivelled and kissing were lost | I |
| Without the pulsing waters where were the marigolds and the songs of the brook | J |
| If my veins and my breasts with love embossed | I |
| Withered my insolent soul would be gone like flowers that the hot wind took | J |
| - | |
| So my soul like a passionate woman turns | K |
| Filled with remorseful terror to the man she scorned and her love | L |
| For myself in my own eyes' laughter burns | K |
| Runs ecstatic over the pliant folds rippling down to my belly from the breast lights above | L |
| - | |
| Over my sunlit skin the warm clinging air | M |
| Rich with the songs of seven larks singing at once goes kissing me glad | N |
| And the soul of the wind and my blood compare | M |
| Their wandering happiness and the wind wasted in liberty drifts on and is sad | N |
| - | |
| Oh but the water loves me and folds me | O |
| Plays with me sways me lifts me and sinks me as though it were living blood | P |
| Blood of a heaving woman who holds me | O |
| Owning my supple body a rare glad thing supremely good | Q |
D. H. Lawrence
(1)
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