From Anacreon: Ode 3 Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHIIJK LLMMNNOOPPQQRRSSMTUV WWXXYYZZ| 'Twas now the hour when Night had driven | A |
| Her car half round yon sable heaven | A |
| Bo ouml tes only seem'd to roll | B |
| His Arctic charge around the Pole | B |
| While mortals lost in gentle sleep | C |
| Forgot to smile or ceas'd to weep | C |
| At this lone hour the Paphian boy | D |
| Descending from the realms of joy | D |
| Quick to my gate directs his course | E |
| And knocks with all his little force | E |
| My visions fled alarm'd I rose | F |
| What stranger breaks my blest repose | F |
| Alas replies the wily child | G |
| In faltering accents sweetly mild | G |
| A hapless Infant here I roam | H |
| Far from my dear maternal home | H |
| Oh shield me from the wintry blast | I |
| The nightly storm is pouring fast | I |
| No prowling robber lingers here | J |
| A wandering baby who can fear | K |
| I heard his seeming artless tale | L |
| I heard his sighs upon the gale | L |
| My breast was never pity's foe | M |
| But felt for all the baby's woe | M |
| I drew the bar and by the light | N |
| Young Love the infant met my sight | N |
| His bow across his shoulders flung | O |
| And thence his fatal quiver hung | O |
| Ah little did I think the dart | P |
| Would rankle soon within my heart | P |
| With care I tend my weary guest | Q |
| His little fingers chill my breast | Q |
| His glossy curls his azure wing | R |
| Which droop with nightly showers I wring | R |
| His shivering limbs the embers warm | S |
| And now reviving from the storm | S |
| Scarce had he felt his wonted glow | M |
| Than swift he seized his slender bow | T |
| I fain would know my gentle host | U |
| He cried if this its strength has lost | V |
| I fear relax'd with midnight dews | W |
| The strings their former aid refuse | W |
| With poison tipt his arrow flies | X |
| Deep in my tortur'd heart it lies | X |
| Then loud the joyous Urchin laugh'd | Y |
| My bow can still impel the shaft | Y |
| 'Tis firmly fix'd thy sighs reveal it | Z |
| Say courteous host canst thou not feel it | Z |
George Gordon Lord Byron
(1)
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