Charles Harpur Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABABBCBC DEDE FBFB GHGH IJKJ LJLJ MNMN OJOJ PNQN JRJR JEJE JJJJ SNSN

Where Harpur lies the rainy streamsA
And wet hill heads and hollows weepingB
Are swift with wind and white with gleamsA
And hoarse with sounds of storms unsleepingB
Fit grave it is for one whose songB
Was tuned by tones he caught from torrentsC
And filled with mountain breaths and strongB
Wild notes of falling forest currentsC
-
So let him sleep the rugged hymnsD
And broken lights of woods above himE
And let me sing how sorrow dimsD
The eyes of those that used to love himE
-
As April in the wilted woldF
Turns faded eyes on splendours waningB
What time the latter leaves are oldF
And ruin strikes the strays remainingB
-
So we that knew this singer deadG
Whose hands attuned the harp AustralianH
May set the face and bow the headG
And mourn his fate and fortunes alienH
-
The burden of a perished faithI
Went sighing through his speech of sweetnessJ
With human hints of time and deathK
And subtle notes of incompletenessJ
-
But when the fiery power of youthL
Had passed away and left him namelessJ
Serene as light and strong as truthL
He lived his life untired and tamelessJ
-
And far and free this man of menM
With wintry hair and wasted featureN
Had fellowship with gorge and glenM
And learned the loves and runes of NatureN
-
Strange words of wind and rhymes of rainO
And whispers from the inland fountainsJ
Are mingled in his various strainO
With leafy breaths of piny mountainsJ
-
But as the undercurrents sighP
Beneath the surface of a riverN
The music of humanityQ
Dwells in his forest psalms for everN
-
No soul was he to sit on heightsJ
And live with rocks apart and scornfulR
Delights of men were his delightsJ
And common troubles made him mournfulR
-
The flying forms of unknown powersJ
With lofty wonder caught and filled himE
But there were days of gracious hoursJ
When sights and sounds familiar thrilled himE
-
The pathos worn by wayside thingsJ
The passion found in simple facesJ
Struck deeper than the life of springsJ
Or strength of storms and sea swept placesJ
-
But now he sleeps the tired bardS
The deepest sleep and lo I profferN
These tender leaves of my regardS
With hands that falter as they offerN

Henry Kendall



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