Winfreda Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BCBCDD EEEEEE EFEFEE GEGEEE EHEHEE EEEEII EJEJEE KLKLEE| A Ballad In The Anglo Saxon Tongue | A |
| - | |
| - | |
| When to the dreary greenwood gloam | B |
| Winfreda's husband strode that day | C |
| The fair Winfreda bode at home | B |
| To toil the weary time away | C |
| While thou art gone to hunt said she | D |
| I'll brew a goodly sop for thee | D |
| - | |
| Lo from a further gloomy wood | E |
| A hungry wolf all bristling hied | E |
| And on the cottage threshold stood | E |
| And saw the dame at work inside | E |
| And as he saw the pleasing sight | E |
| He licked his fangs so sharp and white | E |
| - | |
| Now when Winfreda saw the beast | E |
| Straight at the grinning wolf she ran | F |
| And not affrighted in the least | E |
| She hit him with her cooking pan | F |
| And as she thwacked him on the head | E |
| Scat scat the fair Winfreda said | E |
| - | |
| The hills gave answer to their din | G |
| The brook in fear beheld the sight | E |
| And all that bloody field within | G |
| Wore token of Winfreda's might | E |
| The wolf was very loath to stay | E |
| But oh he could not get away | E |
| - | |
| Winfreda swept him o'er the wold | E |
| And choked him till his gums were blue | H |
| And till beneath her iron hold | E |
| His tongue hung out a yard or two | H |
| And with his hair the riven ground | E |
| Was strewn for many leagues around | E |
| - | |
| They fought a weary time that day | E |
| And seas of purple blood were shed | E |
| Till by Winfreda's cunning lay | E |
| That awful wolf all limp and dead | E |
| Winfreda saw him reel and drop | I |
| Then back she went to brewing sop | I |
| - | |
| So when the husband came at night | E |
| From bootless chase cold gaunt and grim | J |
| Great was that Saxon lord's delight | E |
| To find the sop dished up for him | J |
| And as he ate Winfreda told | E |
| How she had laid the wolf out cold | E |
| - | |
| The good Winfreda of those days | K |
| Is only pretty Birdie now | L |
| Sickly her soul and weak her ways | K |
| And she to whom we Saxons bow | L |
| Leaps on a bench and screams with fright | E |
| If but a mouse creeps into sight | E |
Eugene Field
(1)
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About Winfreda
Winfreda is a poem by Eugene Field. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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