For Howard Moss Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCDEF GEHICJK LMN NCCCC BOHPNQ RST UVWXYZ A2 NB2C2N D2E2F2X HG2PH2I2 TK J2NNNK2L2NM2N NN2HO2CNCO N P2 NQ2R2S2HO N T2NPN PPN NN N U2V2N L2NJ2W2X2Y2 N N N G2 Z2A3NB3I2N N NBC3D3ZCB3 X2N CB3N XNNNE3 NF3| Already six years past your age | A |
| The steps in Rome | B |
| the house near Hampstead Heath | C |
| all your fears | D |
| that you might cease to be | E |
| before your pen had glean'd | F |
| - | |
| My dear dead friend | G |
| you were the first to teach me | E |
| how the dust could sing | H |
| I followed in your footsteps | I |
| up the Heath | C |
| I listened hard | J |
| for Lethe's nightingale | K |
| - | |
| now at I want to live | L |
| Oblivion holds no adolescent charms | M |
| all the 'souls of poets | N |
| dead gone ' | - |
| all the 'Bards | N |
| of Passion Mirth' | C |
| cannot make death | C |
| its echo its damp earth | C |
| resemble birth | C |
| - | |
| You died in Rome | B |
| in faltering sunlight | O |
| Bernini's watery boat still sinking | H |
| in the fountain in the square below | P |
| When Severn came to say | N |
| the roses bloomed | Q |
| you did not 'glut thy sorrow ' | - |
| but you wept | R |
| you wept for them | S |
| for your posthumous life | T |
| - | |
| yet we all lead posthumous lives somehow | U |
| The broken lyre | V |
| the broken lung | W |
| the broken love | X |
| Our names are writ in newsprint | Y |
| if not water | Z |
| - | |
| 'Don't breathe on me ' you cried | A2 |
| 'it comes like ice ' | - |
| - | |
| - | |
| - | |
| Last words | N |
| I can't imagine mine | B2 |
| Perhaps some muttered dream | C2 |
| some poem some curse | N |
| - | |
| Three months past | D2 |
| you lived on milk | E2 |
| They reeled you backward | F2 |
| in the womb of love | X |
| - | |
| - | |
| - | |
| A tepid February Roman Spring | H |
| Fruit trees in bloom | G2 |
| Hampstead still in snow | P |
| Fanny Brawne receives a hopeful note | H2 |
| when you are two weeks dead | I2 |
| - | |
| A poet's life | T |
| always awaiting mail | K |
| - | |
| - | |
| - | |
| For God's sake | J2 |
| kick against the pricks | N |
| There aren't very many roses | N |
| Your life was like an hourglass | N |
| with no sand | K2 |
| The words slid through | L2 |
| rested under glass | N |
| the flesh decayed | M2 |
| to moist Italian clay | N |
| - | |
| - | |
| - | |
| At autopsy | N |
| your lungs were wholly gone | N2 |
| Was that from too much singing | H |
| Too many rifts of ore | O2 |
| You spent your life breath | C |
| breathing life in words | N |
| But words return no breath | C |
| to those who write | O |
| - | |
| Letters Life Literary Remains | N |
| - | |
| 'I find that I cannot exist without poetry ' | - |
| - | |
| 'O for a Life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts ' | - |
| - | |
| 'What the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth ' | - |
| - | |
| 'We hate poetry that has a palpable design upon us ' | - |
| - | |
| 'Sancho will invent a Journey heavenwards as well as anybody ' | - |
| - | |
| 'Poetry should be great and unobtrusive a thing which enters into one's soul ' | - |
| - | |
| 'Why should we kick against the Pricks when we can walk on | P2 |
| the Roses ' | - |
| - | |
| 'Axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses ' | - |
| - | |
| 'Until we are sick we understand not ' | - |
| - | |
| 'Sorrow is Wisdom ' | - |
| - | |
| 'Wisdom is folly ' | - |
| - | |
| - | |
| - | |
| Too wise | N |
| yet not wise enough | Q2 |
| at | R2 |
| Sick you understood | S2 |
| understanding | H |
| were too weak to write | O |
| - | |
| Proved on the pulse poetry | N |
| - | |
| If sorrow is wisdom | T2 |
| wisdom is folly | N |
| then too much sorrow | P |
| is folly | N |
| - | |
| I find that I cannot exist without sorrow | P |
| I find that sorrow | P |
| cannot exist without poetry | N |
| - | |
| What the imagination seizes as beauty | N |
| must be poetry | N |
| - | |
| What the imagination seizes must be | N |
| - | |
| - | |
| - | |
| You claimed no lust for fame | U2 |
| yet your burned | V2 |
| 'The faint conceptions I have of poems to come brings | N |
| the blood frequently into my forehead ' | - |
| - | |
| I burn like you | L2 |
| until it often seems | N |
| my blood will break | J2 |
| the boundaries of my brain | W2 |
| issue forth in one tall fountain | X2 |
| from my skull | Y2 |
| - | |
| - | |
| - | |
| A spume of blood from the forehead poetry | N |
| - | |
| A plume of blood from the heart poetry | N |
| - | |
| Blood from the lungs alizarin crimson words | N |
| - | |
| - | |
| - | |
| 'I will not spoil my love of gloom | G2 |
| by writing an Ode to Darkness ' | - |
| - | |
| The blood turns dark | Z2 |
| it stiffens on the sheet | A3 |
| At night the childhood walls | N |
| are streaked with blood | B3 |
| until the darkness seems awash with red | I2 |
| children sleep behind two blood branched lids | N |
| - | |
| - | |
| - | |
| 'My imagination is a monastery | N |
| I am its monk ' | - |
| - | |
| At five twenty | N |
| very far from home | B |
| death picked you up | C3 |
| sorted to a pip | D3 |
| decades later | Z |
| your words breathe | C |
| syllables of blood | B3 |
| - | |
| A strange transfusion | X2 |
| for my feverish verse | N |
| - | |
| I suck your breath | C |
| your rhythms your blood | B3 |
| all my fiercest dreams are sighed away | N |
| - | |
| I send you love | X |
| dear Keats | N |
| I send you peace | N |
| Since flesh can't stay | N |
| we keep the breath aloft | E3 |
| - | |
| Since flesh can't stay | N |
| we pass the words along | F3 |
Erica Jong
(1)
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