The Empty Glass Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCBDEFE GHIHGJKJ LMEMNOGO DBDBPQJQ RSRSTUGU KVWVXYZY GA2B2A2GJKJ

THERE ARE three lank bards in a borrowed roomA
Ah The number is one too fewB
They have deemed their home and the bars unfitC
For the thing that they have to doB
Three glasses they fill with the Land s own wineD
And the bread of life they passE
Their glasses they take which they slowly raiseF
And they drink to an empty glassE
-
There s a greater glare in the street to nightG
And a louder rush and roarH
There s a mad crowd yelling the winner s nameI
And howling the cricket scoreH
Oh The bright moonlight on the angels whiteG
And the tombs and the monuments grandJ
And down by the water at WaverleyK
There s a little lone mound of sandJ
-
Oh the drinkers would deem them drunk or madL
And the barmaid stare and frownM
Each lays a hand on the empty glassE
Ere they turn it upside downM
There s a name they know in a hand they knowN
Was scratched with a diamond thereO
And they place it in sight turn on more lightG
And they fill their glasses fairO
-
There s a widow that weeps by the Hornsby lineD
And she stood by him long and trueB
But the widow should think by the Hornsby lineD
That others have loved him tooB
Twas a peaceful end and his work was doneP
When called with the year awayQ
And the greatest lady in all the landJ
Is working for her to dayQ
-
If the widow should fear for her children s fateR
Or brood on a future lotS
In a frivolous land with her widowed stateR
In a short twelve months forgotS
She can lay her down for a peaceful restT
And forget her grief in sleepU
For his brothers have taken an oath to nightG
An oath that their hearts can keepU
-
They have taken an oath to his memoryK
A pledge they cannot recallV
To stand by the woman that stood by himW
Through poverty illness and allV
They are young men yet or the prime of lifeX
And as each lays down his trustY
May the world be kind to the left behindZ
And their native land be justY
-
Silence of death in town to nightG
And the streets seem strangely clearA2
Have the pitiful slaves of the gambling curseB2
Fled home for a strange new fearA2
Oh the soft moonlight on the angels whiteG
Where the beautiful marbles standJ
And down by the rollers at WaverleyK
There s a mound of the golden sandJ

Henry Lawson



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