Do You Think That I Do Not Know? Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCBDEDE FGFGHEHE IJIJKEKE LMLMNEOE PQPQRESE TUTUVEVE AWAWXEYE

They say that I never have written of loveA
As a writer of songs should doB
They say that I never could touch the stringsC
With a touch that is firm and trueB
They say I know nothing of women and menD
In the fields where Love's roses growE
And they say I must write with a halting penD
Do you think that I do not knowE
-
When the love burst came like an English SpringF
In days when our hair was brownG
And the hem of her skirt was a sacred thingF
And her hair was an angel's crownG
The shock when another man touched her armH
Where the dancers sat round in a rowE
The hope and despair and the false alarmH
Do you think that I do not knowE
-
By the arbour lights on the western farmsI
You remember the question putJ
While you held her warm in your quivering armsI
And you trembled from head to footJ
The electric shock from her finger tipsK
And the murmuring answer lowE
The soft shy yielding of warm red lipsK
Do you think that I do not knowE
-
She was buried at Brighton where Gordon sleepsL
When I was a world awayM
And the sad old garden its secret keepsL
For nobody knows to dayM
She left a message for me to readN
Where the wild wide oceans flowE
Do you know how the heart of a man can bleedO
Do you think that I do not knowE
-
I stood by the grave where the dead girl liesP
When the sunlit scenes were fairQ
And the white clouds high in the autumn skiesP
And I answered the message thereQ
But the haunting words of the dead to meR
Shall go wherever I goE
She lives in the Marriage that Might Have BeenS
Do you think that I do not knowE
-
They sneer or scoff and they pray or groanT
And the false friend plays his partU
Do you think that the blackguard who drinks aloneT
Knows aught of a pure girl's heartU
Knows aught of the first pure love of a boyV
With his warm young blood aglowE
Knows aught of the thrill of the world old joyV
Do you think that I do not knowE
-
They say that I never have written of loveA
They say that my heart is suchW
That finer feelings are far aboveA
But a writer may know too muchW
There are darkest depths in the brightest nightsX
When the clustering stars hang lowE
There are things it would break his strong heart to writeY
Do you think that I do not knowE

Henry Lawson



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