The Muse Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCDEEFFGGHHIIJJKK LLFFMMFFFFGGNNOOGGFF PPJJQQJJFFFFJJQR| She doth tell me where to borrow | A |
| Comfort in the midst of sorrow | A |
| Makes the desolatest place | B |
| To her presence be a grace | B |
| And the blackest discontents | C |
| Be her fairest ornaments | D |
| In my former days of bliss | E |
| Her divine skill taught me this | E |
| That from everything I saw | F |
| I could some invention draw | F |
| And raise pleasure to her height | G |
| Through the meanest object's sight | G |
| By the murmur of a spring | H |
| Or the least bough's rustleing | H |
| By a daisy whose leaves spread | I |
| Shut when Titan goes to bed | I |
| Or a shady bush or tree | J |
| She could more infuse in me | J |
| Than all Nature's beauties can | K |
| In some other wiser man | K |
| By her help I also now | L |
| Make this churlish place allow | L |
| Some things that may sweeten gladness | F |
| In the very gall of sadness | F |
| The dull loneness the black shade | M |
| That these hanging vaults have made | M |
| The strange music of the waves | F |
| Beating on these hollow caves | F |
| This black den which rocks emboss | F |
| Overgrown with eldest moss | F |
| The rude portals that give light | G |
| More to terror than delight | G |
| This my chamber of neglect | N |
| Walled about with disrespect | N |
| From all these and this dull air | O |
| A fit object for despair | O |
| She hath taught me by her might | G |
| To draw comfort and delight | G |
| Therefore thou best earthly bliss | F |
| I will cherish thee for this | F |
| Poesy thou sweet'st content | P |
| That e'er heaven to mortals lent | P |
| Though they as a trifle leave thee | J |
| Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee | J |
| Though thou be to them a scorn | Q |
| That to nought but earth are born | Q |
| Let my life no longer be | J |
| Than I am in love with thee | J |
| Though our wise ones call thee madness | F |
| Let me never taste of gladness | F |
| If I love not thy madd'st fits | F |
| Above all their greatest wits | F |
| And though some too seeming holy | J |
| Do account thy raptures folly | J |
| Thou dost teach me to contemn | Q |
| What makes knaves and fools of them | R |
George Wither
(1)
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About The Muse
The Muse is a poem by George Wither. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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