Amalfi. (birds Of Passage. Flight The Fourth) Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABCBBC DEFDEF BGGBHHIJJI KKLKGGLMMANNA OPOQQPROOORO STTSOOOOOOOO QUUQQQOVOV HHOWWOOOOXXYYDDY WWQOQAOA

Sweet the memory is to meA
Of a land beyond the seaA
Where the waves and mountains meetB
Where amid her mulberry treesC
Sits Amalfi in the heatB
Bathing ever her white feetB
In the tideless summer seasC
-
In the middle of the townD
From its fountains in the hillsE
Tumbling through the narrow gorgeF
The Canneto rushes downD
Turns the great wheels of the millsE
Lifts the hammers of the forgeF
-
'T is a stairway not a streetB
That ascends the deep ravineG
Where the torrent leaps betweenG
Rocky walls that almost meetB
Toiling up from stair to stairH
Peasant girls their burdens bearH
Sunburnt daughters of the soilI
Stately figures tall and straightJ
What inexorable fateJ
Dooms them to this life of toilI
-
Lord of vineyards and of landsK
Far above the convent standsK
On its terraced walk aloofL
Leans a monk with folded handsK
Placid satisfied sereneG
Looking down upon the sceneG
Over wall and red tiled roofL
Wondering unto what good endM
All this toil and traffic tendM
And why all men cannot beA
Free from care and free from painN
And the sordid love of gainN
And as indolent as heA
-
Where are now the freighted barksO
From the marts of east and westP
Where the knights in iron sarksO
Journeying to the Holy LandQ
Glove of steel upon the handQ
Cross of crimson on the breastP
Where the pomp of camp and courtR
Where the pilgrims with their prayersO
Where the merchants with their waresO
And their gallant brigantinesO
Sailing safely into portR
Chased by corsair AlgerinesO
-
Vanished like a fleet of cloudS
Like a passing trumpet blastT
Are those splendors of the pastT
And the commerce and the crowdS
Fathoms deep beneath the seasO
Lie the ancient wharves and quaysO
Swallowed by the engulfing wavesO
Silent streets and vacant hallsO
Ruined roofs and towers and wallsO
Hidden from all mortal eyesO
Deep the sunken city liesO
Even cities have their gravesO
-
This is an enchanted landQ
Round the headlands far awayU
Sweeps the blue Salernian bayU
With its sickle of white sandQ
Further still and furthermostQ
On the dim discovered coastQ
Paestum with its ruins liesO
And its roses all in bloomV
Seem to tinge the fatal skiesO
Of that lonely land of doomV
-
On his terrace high in airH
Nothing doth the good monk careH
For such worldly themes as theseO
From the garden just belowW
Little puffs of perfume blowW
And a sound is in his earsO
Of the murmur of the beesO
In the shining chestnut treesO
Nothing else he heeds or hearsO
All the landscape seems to swoonX
In the happy afternoonX
Slowly o'er his senses creepY
The encroaching waves of sleepY
And he sinks as sank the townD
Unresisting fathoms downD
Into caverns cool and deepY
-
Walled about with drifts of snowW
Hearing the fierce north wind blowW
Seeing all the landscape whiteQ
And the river cased in iceO
Comes this memory of delightQ
Comes this vision unto meA
Of a long lost ParadiseO
In the land beyond the seaA

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow



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