Sestina: Altaforte Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABBCDEF GHIJFJ JGFHJI IJJGHF B FIJHGJ B JFGIJH B HJJFIG B FIG| LOQUITUR En Bertans de Born | A |
| Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer up of strife | B |
| Eccovi | B |
| Judge ye | C |
| Have I dug him up again | D |
| The scene is at his castle Altaforte Papiols is his jongleur | E |
| The Leopard the device of Richard Coeur de Lion | F |
| - | |
| I | - |
| - | |
| Damn it all all this our South stinks peace | G |
| You whoreson dog Papiols come Let's to music | H |
| I have no life save when the swords clash | I |
| But ah when I see the standards gold vair purple opposing | J |
| And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson | F |
| Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing | J |
| - | |
| II | - |
| - | |
| In hot summer I have great rejoicing | J |
| When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace | G |
| And the lightning from black heav'n flash crimson | F |
| And the fierce thunders roar me their music | H |
| And the winds shriek through the clouds mad opposing | J |
| And through all the riven skies God's swords clash | I |
| - | |
| III | - |
| - | |
| Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash | I |
| And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing | J |
| Spiked breast to spiked breat opposing | J |
| Better one hour's stour than a year's peace | G |
| With fat boards bawds wine and frail music | H |
| Bah there's no wine like the blood's crimson | F |
| - | |
| IV | B |
| - | |
| And I love to see the sun rise blood crimson | F |
| And I watch his spears through the dark clash | I |
| And it fills all my heart with rejoicing | J |
| And pries wide my mouth with fast music | H |
| When I see him so scorn and defy peace | G |
| His long might 'gainst all darkness opposing | J |
| - | |
| V | B |
| - | |
| The man who fears war and squats opposing | J |
| My words for stour hath no blood of crimson | F |
| But is fit only to rot in womanish peace | G |
| Far from where worth's won and the swords clash | I |
| For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing | J |
| Yea I fill all the air with my music | H |
| - | |
| VI | B |
| - | |
| Papiols Papiols to the music | H |
| There's no sound like to swords swords opposing | J |
| No cry like the battle's rejoicing | J |
| When our elbows and swords drip the crimson | F |
| And our charges 'gainst The Leopard's rush clash | I |
| May God damn for ever all who cry Peace | G |
| - | |
| VII | B |
| - | |
| And let the music of the swords make them crimson | F |
| Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash | I |
| Hell blot black for always the thought Peace | G |
Ezra Pound
(1)
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