A Brisbane Reverie Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AAA BBB CCC DDEFFF GGG HHH III JJJ FFF KKK LL L MNM OOO PPP QQQ RRR SSS QQQ TTT UUU FFFVVV WWW

As I sit beside my little study window looking downA
From the heights of contemplation attic front upon the townA
Attic front per week with board of course a sov'reign and a crownA
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As I sit these sad digressions though are much to be deploredB
In my lonely little attic it is all I can affordB
And I should have mentioned washing not included in the boardB
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As I sit these wild parentheses my very soul abhorsC
High above the ills of life its petty rumours paltry warsC
The attic back is cheaper but it wants a chest of drawersC
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In the purpling light of half past six before the stars are metD
While the stricken sun clings fondly to his royal mantle yetD
Dying glorious on the hill tops in reluctant violetE
Just the time that favours vision blissful moments that unbarF
The inner sight assisted by a very mild cigarF
To behold the things that are not side by side with those that areF
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Just the very light and very time that suit the bard's complaintG
When through present past and future roams his soul without restraintG
When no clearer are the things that are than are the things that ain'tG
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With a dual apperception metaphysical profoundH
Past and present running parallel I scan the scene aroundH
Were there two of us the attic front would only be a poundH
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Beneath mine eyes the buried past arises from the tombI
Not cadaverous or ghostly but in all its living bloomI
I would rather pay the odds than have a partner in my roomI
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How the complex now contrasteth with the elemental thenJ
Tide of change outflowing flow of ink outstripping stride of penJ
Unless it were but no they only take in single menJ
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Where trackless wilderness lay wide a hundred ages throughF
I can see a man with papers from my attic point of viewF
Who for gath'ring house assessments gets a very decent screwF
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Where forest contiguity assuaged the summer heatsK
It is now an argued question when the City Council meetsK
If we mightn't buy a tree or two to shade the glaring streetsK
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Where no sound announced the flight of time not even crow of cockL
I can see the gun that stuns the town with monitory shockL
-
And a son of that same weapon hired to shoot at one o'clockL
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Where the kangaroo gave hops the old man fleetest of the fleetM
Mrs Pursy gives a hop to night to all the town's liteN
But her old man cannot hop because of bunions on his feetM
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Where the emu at its own sweet will went wandering all the dayO
And left its bill prints on whate'er came handy in its wayO
There are printed bills that advertise The Emu for the BayO
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Where of old with awful mysteries and diabolic dinP
They kippered adolescents in the presence of their kinP
There's a grocer selling herrings kippered half a crown per tinP
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Where the savage only used his club to supplement his fistQ
The white man uses his for friendly intercourse and whistQ
Not to mention sherry port bordeaux et cetera see listQ
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Where dress was at a discount or at most a modest fallR
Rise Criterion Cosmopolitan and City Clothing HallR
And neither men nor women count for much the dress is allR
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Where a bride's trousseau consisted of an extra coat of greaseS
And Nature gave the pair a suit of glossy black apieceS
Now the matrimonial outfit is a perfect golden fleeceS
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Where lorn widows wore the knee joints of the late lamented deadQ
We have dashing wives who wear their living husbands' joints insteadQ
Yea their vitals for embellishment of bosom neck and headQ
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Where the blacks ignoring livers lived according to their willsT
Nor knew that flesh is heir to quite a lexicon of illsT
Five white chemists in one street grow rich through antibilious pillsT
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Where the only bell was the bell bird's note now many mingling bellsU
Make Catholic the trembling air as famed George Eliot tellsU
Of another town somewhere between more northern parallelsU
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But in case the name of Catholic offend protesting earF
Let Wesleyan or Baptist be interpolated hereF
Or that bells make Presbyterian the trembling atmosphereF
Where the savage learned no love from earth nor from the shining frameV
And merely feared the devil under some outlandish nameV
There are heaps of Britishers whose creed is very much the sameV
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Where the gin was black methinks'tis time the bard were shutting upW
The bell is ringing for the non inebriating cupW
And even attic bards must have their little bite and supW

James Brunton Stephens



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