A Voice From The City Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABABCDCDEFEFGHGI JKLKDMDM NOPOQRSR TUTUVWXW YZYZA2SA2S KB2C2B2VJD2J YHSIE2SE2S

On western plain and eastern hillA
Where once my fancy rangedB
The station hands are riding stillA
And they are little changedB
But I have lost in London gloomC
The glory of the dayD
The grand perfume of wattle bloomC
Is faint and far awayD
Brown faces under broad brimmed hatsE
The grip of wiry handsF
The gallops on the frosty flatsE
Seem dreams of other landsF
The camp fire and the stars that blazeG
Above the mystic plainH
Are but the thoughts of vanished daysG
That never come againI
-
The evening star I seldom viewJ
That led me on to roamK
I never see the morning starL
That used to draw me homeK
But I have often longed for dayD
To hide the few I seeM
Because they only point and sayD
Most bitter things to meM
-
I wear my life on pavement stonesN
That drag me ever downO
A paltry slave to little thingsP
By custom chained to townO
I ve lost the strength to strike aloneQ
The heart to do and dareR
I mind the day I d roll my swagS
And tramp to God knows whereR
-
When I should wait I wander outT
When I should go I bideU
I scarcely dare to think aboutT
The days when I could rideU
I would not mount before his eyesV
Straight Bushman tall and tanW
I mind the day when I stood upX
And fought him like a manW
-
I mind the time when I was shyY
To meet the brown Bush girlsZ
I ve lunched with lords since then and IY
Have been at home with earlsZ
I learned to smile and learned to bowA2
And lie to ladies gayS
But to a gaunt Bushwoman nowA2
I d not know what to sayS
-
And if I sought her hard bare homeK
From scenes of show and shamB2
I d sit all ill at ease and fellC2
The poor weak thing I amB2
I could not meet her hopeless eyesV
That look one through and throughJ
The haggard woman of the pastD2
Who once thought I was trueJ
-
But nought on earth can last for ayeY
And wild with care and painH
Some day by chance I ll break awayS
And seek the Bush againI
And find awhile from bitter yearsE2
The rest the Bush can bringS
And hear perhaps with truer earsE2
The songs it has to singS

Henry Lawson



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