Mary Smith Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDD EEFCGGDD HHIIJJDD KKLLMMDD NNOOPPDD QQRRSSDD CCTTUUDD VVUUWWDD| Away down East where I was reared amongst my Yankee kith | A |
| There used to live a pretty girl whose name was Mary Smith | A |
| And though it's many years since last I saw that pretty girl | B |
| And though I feel I'm sadly worn by Western strife and whirl | B |
| Still oftentimes I think about the old familiar place | C |
| Which someway seemed the brighter for Miss Mary's pretty face | C |
| And in my heart I feel once more revivified the glow | D |
| I used to feel in those old times when I was Mary's beau | D |
| - | |
| I saw her home from singing school she warbled like a bird | E |
| A sweeter voice than hers for song or speech I never heard | E |
| She was soprano in the choir and I a solemn bass | F |
| And when we unisoned our voices filled that holy place | C |
| The tenor and the alto never had the slightest chance | G |
| For Mary's upper register made every heart string dance | G |
| And as for me I shall not brag and yet I'd have you know | D |
| I sung a very likely bass when I was Mary's beau | D |
| - | |
| On Friday nights I'd drop around to make my weekly call | H |
| And though I came to visit her I'd have to see 'em all | H |
| With Mary's mother sitting here and Mary's father there | I |
| The conversation never flagged so far as I'm aware | I |
| Sometimes I'd hold her worsted sometimes we'd play at games | J |
| Sometimes dissect the apples which we'd named each other's names | J |
| Oh how I loathed the shrill toned clock that told me when to go | D |
| 'Twas ten o'clock at half past eight when I was Mary's beau | D |
| - | |
| Now there was Luther Baker because he'd come of age | K |
| And thought himself some pumpkins because he drove the stage | K |
| He fancied he could cut me out but Mary was my friend | L |
| Elsewise I'm sure the issue had had a tragic end | L |
| For Luther Baker was a man I never could abide | M |
| And when it came to Mary either he or I had died | M |
| I merely cite this instance incidentally to show | D |
| That I was quite in earnest when I was Mary's beau | D |
| - | |
| How often now those sights those pleasant sights recur again | N |
| The little township that was all the world I knew of then | N |
| The meeting house upon the hill the tavern just beyond | O |
| Old deacon Packard's general store the sawmill by the pond | O |
| The village elms I vainly sought to conquer in my quest | P |
| Of that surpassing trophy the golden oriole's nest | P |
| And last of all those visions that come back from long ago | D |
| The pretty face that thrilled my soul when I was Mary's beau | D |
| - | |
| Hush gentle wife there is no need a pang should vex your heart | Q |
| 'T is many years since fate ordained that she and I should part | Q |
| To each a true maturer love came in good time and yet | R |
| It brought not with its nobler grace the power to forget | R |
| And would you fain begrudge me now the sentimental joy | S |
| That comes of recollections of my sparkings when a boy | S |
| I warrant me that were your heart put to the rack 't would show | D |
| That it had predilections when I was Mary's beau | D |
| - | |
| And Mary should these lines of mine seek out your biding place | C |
| God grant they bring the old sweet smile back to your pretty face | C |
| God grant they bring you thoughts of me not as I am to day | T |
| With faltering step and brimming eyes and aspect grimly gray | T |
| But thoughts that picture me as fair and full of life and glee | U |
| As we were in the olden times as you shall always be | U |
| Think of me ever Mary as the boy you used to know | D |
| When time was fleet and life was sweet and I was Mary's beau | D |
| - | |
| Dear hills of old New England look down with tender eyes | V |
| Upon one little lonely grave that in your bosom lies | V |
| For in that cradle sleeps a child who was so fair to see | U |
| God yearned to have unto Himself the joy she brought to me | U |
| And bid your winds sing soft and low the song of other days | W |
| When hand in hand and heart to heart we went our pleasant ways | W |
| Ah me but could I sing again that song of long ago | D |
| Instead of this poor idle song of being Mary's beau | D |
Eugene Field
(1)
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