Stop-and-see Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABABCDED FGFHIJIJ KDKDLMNM DODOPQPQ ERERJSJS ETETPLPL UHUHVWVW XRXRJIJI DYDYEZEZ

I M STEWING in a brick built townA
My coat is quite a stylish cutB
And morn and even up and downA
I travel in a common rutB
But as the city sounds recedeC
In dreamy moods I sometimes seeD
A vision of a busy leadE
And hear its voices calling meD
-
My flaccid muscles seem to tweakF
To feel the windlass pall and strainG
To shake the cradle by the creekF
And puddle at the tom againH
I d gladly sling this musty shopI
To see the sluicing waters flowJ
A pile of tucker dirt on topI
And simply Lord knows what belowJ
-
Twas lightly left tis lately mournedK
The tent life up at Stop and SeeD
When shirts with yellow clay adornedK
Were badges of nobilityD
When Sunday s best was Monday s wearL
And Bennett gave us verse and bookM
Poor Dick a crude philosopherN
But bless his heart a clever cookM
-
An easy life we lived and freeD
The wash was only ten weight stuffO
The bottom dry and soft at kneeD
With Hope to help us twas enoughO
Then none could say us ay or nayP
Did we agree to slave or smokeQ
The pan was ready with the payP
E en though the graft was half in jokeQ
-
Twas good when spell oh had been saidE
To watch the white smoke curl and clingR
Against the gravel roof o erheadE
The candles dimly flickeringR
And circled with a yellow glowJ
To sprawl upon the broken reefS
And pensively to pull and blowJ
The fragrant incense from the leafS
-
And where the creek ran by our tentE
Or lingered through embowered pondsT
In dusky nooks that held a scentE
Of musk amid the drooping frondsT
It was a pleasant task to layP
The dish within the stream and thereL
To puddle off the pug and clayP
And pan the gleaming prospect bareL
-
Oft in the strange deceit of dreamsU
I swirl the old tin dish againH
And Wondee s rippling water seemsU
To cool my weary limbs as thenH
And down the hill side bare and dryV
A digger s chorus faintly comesW
And mingles with the lullabyV
Of locusts in the drowsy gumsW
-
The barrels rattle on their standsX
And in the shaft the nail kegs swingR
The short sharp strokes of practised handsX
Are making pick and anvil ringR
I hear the splitter s measured blowJ
The distant knocker rise and dropI
The cheery cry Look up belowJ
The muffled call of Heave on topI
-
No piles were made at Stop and SeeD
No nuggets found of giant sizeY
But looking back it seems to meD
That all who laboured there were wiseY
For there was freedom void of prideE
There hate of forms and shallow artsZ
And there were friendships all too wideE
For narrow streets and narrow heartsZ

Edward George Dyson



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