Prelude Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BBCDEEFFGGHEIIEEJJKK LLMMNNNNOOHNPPNNAANN NNQQNNEENNNNEEEERRNN SSRRNNPPEEEEEEEENNAA NNNNTTUUEENNEEEENNNN FFNNEENNNNVVNNEEEENN VWFrom The Shepherd's Hunting | A |
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Seest thou not in clearest days | B |
Oft thick fogs cloud Heaven's rays | B |
And that vapours which do breathe | C |
From the Earth's gross womb beneath | D |
Seem unto us with black steams | E |
To pollute the Sun's bright beams | E |
And yet vanish into air | F |
Leaving it unblemished fair | F |
So my Willy shall it be | G |
With Detraction's breath on thee | G |
It shall never rise so high | H |
As to stain thy poesy | E |
As that sun doth oft exhale | I |
Vapours from each rotten vale | I |
Poesy so sometime drains | E |
Gross conceits from muddy brains | E |
Mists of envy fogs of spite | J |
Twixt men's judgments and her light | J |
But so much her power may do | K |
That she can dissolve them too | K |
If thy verse do bravely tower | L |
As she makes wing she gets power | L |
Yet the higher she doth soar | M |
She's affronted still the more | M |
Till she to the highest hath past | N |
Then she rests with Fame at last | N |
Let nought therefore thee affright | N |
But make forward in thy flight | N |
For if I could match thy rhyme | O |
To the very stars I'd climb | O |
There begin again and fly | H |
Till I reached eternity | N |
But alas my Muse is slow | P |
For thy place she flags too low | P |
Yea the more's her hapless fate | N |
Her short wings were clipt of late | N |
And poor I her fortune ruing | A |
Am put up myself a mewing | A |
But if I my cage can rid | N |
I'll fly where I never did | N |
And though for her sake I'm crost | N |
Though my best hopes I have lost | N |
And knew she would make my trouble | Q |
Ten times more than ten times double | Q |
I should love and keep her too | N |
Spite of all the world could do | N |
For though banished from my flocks | E |
And confined within these rocks | E |
Here I waste away the light | N |
And consume the sullen night | N |
She doth for my comfort stay | N |
And keeps many cares away | N |
Though I miss the flowery fields | E |
With those sweets the spring tide yields | E |
Though I may not see those groves | E |
Where the shepherds chaunt their loves | E |
And the lasses more excel | R |
Than the sweet voiced Philomel | R |
Though of all those pleasures past | N |
Nothing now remains at last | N |
But Remembrance poor relief | S |
That more makes than mends my grief | S |
She's my mind's companion still | R |
Maugre envy's evil will | R |
Whence she should be driven too | N |
Were't in mortal's power to do | N |
She doth tell me where to borrow | P |
Comfort in the midst of sorrow | P |
Makes the desolatest place | E |
To her presence be a grace | E |
And the blackest discontents | E |
To be pleasing ornaments | E |
In my former days of bliss | E |
Her divine skill taught me this | E |
That from everything I saw | E |
I could some invention draw | E |
And raise pleasure to her height | N |
Through the meanest object's sight | N |
By the murmur of a spring | A |
Or the least bough's rustling | A |
By a daisy whose leaves spread | N |
Shut when Titan goes to bed | N |
Or a shady bush or tree | N |
She could more infuse in me | N |
Than all Nature's beauties can | T |
In some other wiser man | T |
By her help I also now | U |
Make this churlish place allow | U |
Some things that may sweeten gladness | E |
In the very gall of sadness | E |
The dull loneness the black shade | N |
That these hanging vaults have made | N |
The strange music of the waves | E |
Beating on these hollow caves | E |
This black den which rocks emboss | E |
Overgrown with eldest moss | E |
The rude portals that give light | N |
More to terror than delight | N |
This my chamber of neglect | N |
Walled about with disrespect | N |
From all these and this dull air | F |
A fit object for despair | F |
She hath taught me by her might | N |
To draw comfort and delight | N |
Therefore thou best earthly bliss | E |
I will cherish thee for this | E |
Poesy thou sweet'st content | N |
That e'er Heaven to mortals lent | N |
Though they as a trifle leave thee | N |
Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee | N |
Though thou be to them a scorn | V |
That to nought but earth are born | V |
Let my life no longer be | N |
Than I am in love with thee | N |
Though our wise ones call thee madness | E |
Let me never taste of gladness | E |
If I love not thy maddest fits | E |
More than all their greatest wits | E |
And though some too seeming holy | N |
Do account thy raptures folly | N |
Thou dost teach me to contemn | V |
What makes knaves and fools of them | W |
George Wither
(1)
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