The Curl Of Gold Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEEFFGGBBGGHH IIJJBBKKJJLLMMNNOOEE PP

How wildly blows the wintry wind deep lies the drifting snowA
On the hillside and the roadside and the valleys down belowA
And up the gorge all through last night the rushing storm flew fastB
And there old walls and casements were rattling in the blastB
Lady I had a dream last night born of the storm and painC
I dreamed it was the time of spring but the clouds were black with rainC
I thought that I was on the bay a good way out from shoreD
Alone and feeling much afraid at the wild tempest's roarD
I tried to reach the distant land but could not find the wayE
And suddenly my boat capsized far out upon the bayE
I shrieked in wildest agony amid the thunder shockF
When I heard you saying unto me Beneath us is a RockF
Trust not to me these waves are strong but lift your tear dimmed eyeG
That star will lead us to the rock that higher is than IG
And through the drenching wave and surf together on we passedB
Till the bright green slopes of Hamilton shone clearly out at lastB
It seemed so strange we stepped ashore your garments were all dryG
And holding hands as we do now I heard you say good byeG
Dear lady now I see it all those blessed words you saidH
Were with me in the storm last night like angels round my bedH
So many and great dangers that we cannot stand uprightI
Defend us by thy mercy from all perils of this nightI
Lady I am a mother none know it here save youJ
Don't blush for me there is no shame I am a wife leal and trueJ
Lady true love is born of heaven we may deem it dead and pastB
And sit with bowed down head alone the heart's door closed and fastB
When suddenly we hear a voice and spite of bolt or barK
Like its dear Master there it stands stretching its arms afarK
Though buried up it rises though dead it lives anewJ
And breathes again its Master's words Sweet peace be unto youJ
Folks say There is a mystery about that poor sick girlL
Lady there's mystery round us all that angels will unfurlL
I have one favor now to ask within this paper's foldM
There's a little lock of baby's hair just half one curl of goldM
When I am in my coffin and soon now I'll be at restN
Will you lay this little curl of gold upon my quiet breastN
God and the angels only know where the other half lies hidO
In the green sod of old Ireland neath a baby's coffin lidO
Don't'leave me yet it is near night I feel so strange to dayE
You know the prayers for dying ones oh kneel once more and prayE
-
Thank God for sending one to me where the wild tempests rollP
You won't forget the little curl Saviour receive my soulP

Harriet Annie Wilkins



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About The Curl Of Gold

The Curl Of Gold is a poem by Harriet Annie Wilkins. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.



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