Artemis To Actaeon Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSG TUVO WXYZA2B2XC2D2NNE2F2M G2CNCCCOH2CNNI2NGNCC J2NCCNNNCRQE2 ME2K2MCMNL2NM2CK2NK2 N2NO2CYCCP2Q2 CKR2CO

Thou couldst not look on me and live so runsA
The mortal legend thou that couldst not liveB
Nor look on me so the divine decreeC
That saw'st me in the cloud the wave the boughD
The clod commoved with April and the shapesE
Lurking 'twixt lid and eye ball in the darkF
Mocked I thee not in every guise of lifeG
Hid in girls' eyes a naiad in her wellH
Wooed through their laughter and like echo fledI
Luring thee down the primal silencesJ
Where the heart hushes and the flesh is dumbK
Nay was not I the tide that drew thee outL
Relentlessly from the detaining shoreM
Forth from the home lights and the hailing voicesN
Forth from the last faint headland's failing lineO
Till I enveloped thee from verge to vergeP
And hid thee in the hollow of my beingQ
And still because between us hung the veilR
The myriad tinted veil of sense thy feetS
Refused their rest thy hands the gifts of lifeG
Thy heart its losses lest some lesser faceT
Should blur mine image in thine upturned soulU
Ere death had stamped it there This was thy thoughtV
And mineO
-
The gods they say have all not soW
This have they flocks on every hill the blueX
Spirals of incense and the amber dripY
Of lucid honey comb on sylvan shrinesZ
First chosen weanlings doves immaculateA2
Twin cooing in the osier plaited cageB2
And ivy garlands glaucous with the dewX
Man's wealth man's servitude but not himselfC2
And so they pale for lack of warmth they waneD2
Freeze to the marble of their imagesN
And pinnacled on man's subserviencyN
Through the thick sacrificial haze discernE2
Unheeding lives and loves as some cold peakF2
Through icy mists may enviously descryM
Warm vales unzoned to the all fruitful sunG2
So they along an immortalityC
Of endless envistaed homage strain their gazeN
If haply some rash votary empty urnedC
But light of foot with all adventuring handC
Break rank fling past the people and the priestC
Up the last step on to the inmost shrineO
And there the sacred curtain in his clutchH2
Drop dead of seeing while the others prayedC
Yes this we wait for this renews us thisN
Incarnates us pale people of your dreamsN
Who are but what you make us wood or stoneI2
Or cold chryselephantine hung with gemsN
Or else the beating purpose of your lifeG
Your sword your clay the note your pipe pursuesN
The face that haunts your pillow or the lightC
Scarce visible over leagues of labouring seaC
O thus through use to reign again to drinkJ2
The cup of peradventure to the leesN
For one dear instant disimmortalisedC
In giving immortalityC
So dream the gods upon their listless thronesN
Yet sometimes when the votary appearsN
With death affronting forehead and glad eyesN
Too young they rather muse too frail thou artC
And shall we rob some girl of saffron veilR
And nuptial garland for so slight a thingQ
And so to their incurious loves returnE2
-
Not so with thee for some indeed there areM
Who would behold the truth and then returnE2
To pine among the semblances but IK2
Divined in thee the questing foot that neverM
Revisits the cold hearth of yesterdayC
Or calls achievement home I from afarM
Beheld thee fashioned for one hour's high useN
Nor meant to slake oblivion drop by dropL2
Long long hadst thou inhabited my dreamsN
Surprising me as harts surprise a poolM2
Stealing to drink at midnight I divinedC
Thee rash to reach the heart of life and lieK2
Bosom to bosom in occasion's armsN
And said Because I love thee thou shalt dieK2
-
For immortality is not to rangeN2
Unlimited through vast Olympian daysN
Or sit in dull dominion over timeO2
But this to drink fate's utmost at a draughtC
Nor feel the wine grow stale upon the lipY
To scale the summit of some soaring momentC
Nor know the dulness of the long descentC
To snatch the crown of life and seal it upP2
Secure forever in the vaults of deathQ2
-
And this was thine to lose thyself in meC
Relive in my renewal and becomeK
The light of other lives a quenchless torchR2
Passed on from hand to hand till men are dustC
And the last garland withers from my shrineO

Edith Wharton



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