Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Finale Poem Rhyme Scheme

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These are the tales those merry guests	A
Told to each other well or ill	B
Like summer birds that lift their crests	A
Above the borders of their nests	A
And twitter and again are still	B
	-
These are the tales or new or old	C
In idle moments idly told	C
Flowers of the field with petals thin	D
Lilies that neither toil nor spin	D
And tufts of wayside weeds and gorse	A
Hung in the parlor of the inn	D
Beneath the sign of the Red Horse	A
	-
And still reluctant to retire	E
The friends sat talking by the fire	F
And watched the smouldering embers burn	G
To ashes and flash up again	H
Into a momentary glow	I
Lingering like them when forced to go	I
And going when they would remain	J
For on the morrow they must turn	G
Their faces homeward and the pain	J
Of parting touched with its unrest	K
A tender nerve in every breast	K
	-
But sleep at last the victory won	L
They must be stirring with the sun	L
And drowsily good night they said	M
And went still gossiping to bed	M
And left the parlor wrapped in gloom	N
The only live thing in the room	N
Was the old clock that in its pace	A
Kept time with the revolving spheres	A
And constellations in their flight	O
And struck with its uplifted mace	A
The dark unconscious hours of night	O
To senseless and unlistening ears	A
	-
Uprose the sun and every guest	K
Uprisen was soon equipped and dressed	K
For journeying home and city ward	P
The old stage coach was at the door	Q
With horses harnessed long before	Q
The sunshine reached the withered sward	P
Beneath the oaks whose branches hoar	Q
Murmured Farewell forevermore	Q
	-
Farewell the portly Landlord cried	R
Farewell the parting guests replied	R
But little thought that nevermore	Q
Their feet would pass that thershold o er	Q
That nevermore together there	Q
Would they assemble free from care	Q
To hear the oaks mysterious roar	Q
And breathe the wholesome country air	Q
	-
Where are they now What lands and skies	A
Paint pictures in their friendly eyes	A
What hope deludes what promise cheers	A
What pleasant voices fill their ears	A
Two are beyond the salt sea waves	A
And three already in their graves	A
Perchance the living still may look	S
Into the pages of this book	S
And see the days of long ago	I
Floating and fleeting to and fro	I
As in the well remembered brook	S
They saw the inverted landscape gleam	T
And their own faces like a dream	T
Look up upon them from below	I

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Finale Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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