A Thought Or Two On Reading Pomfret's “choice” Poem Rhyme Scheme

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I have been reading Pomfret's Choice this spring	A
A pretty kind of sort of kind of thing	A
Not much a verse and poem none at all	B
Yet as they say extremely natural	C
And yet I know not There's an art in pies	D
In raising crusts as well as galleries	E
And he's the poet more or less who knows	F
The charm that hallows the least truth from prose	F
And dresses it in its mild singing clothes	G
Not oaks alone are trees nor roses flowers	H
Much humble wealth makes rich this world of ours	H
Nature from some sweet energy throws up	I
Alike the pine mount and the buttercup	I
And truth she makes so precious that to paint	J
Either shall shrine an artist like a saint	J
And bring him in his turn the crowds that press	K
Round Guido's saints or Titian's goddesses	L
	-
Our trivial poet hit upon a theme	M
Which all men love an old sweet household dream	M
Pray reader what is yours I know full well	N
What sort of home should grace my garden bell	N
No tall half furnish'd gloomy shivering house	O
That worst of mountains labouring with a mouse	O
Nor should I choose to fill a tawdry niche in	P
A Grecian temple opening to a kitchen	Q
The frogs in Homer should have had such boxes	R
Or Aesop's frog whose heart was like the ox's	R
Such puff about high roads so grand so small	B
With wings and what not portico and all	B
And poor drench'd pillars which it seems a sin	P
Not to mat up at night time or take in	P
I'd live in none of those Nor would I have	S
Veranda'd windows to forestall my grave	T
Veranda'd truly from the northern heat	U
And cut down to the floor to comfort one's cold feet	U
My house should be of brick more wide than high	V
With sward up to the path and elm trees nigh	V
A good old country lodge half hid with blooms	R
Of honied green and quaint with straggling rooms	R
A few of which white bedded and well swept	W
For friends whose name endear'd them should be kept	W
The tip toe traveller peeping through the boughs	R
O'er my low wall should bless the pleasant house	R
And that my luck might not seem ill bestow'd	X
A bench and spring should greet him on the road	X
	-
My grounds should not be large I like to go	Y
To Nature for a range and prospect too	Z
And cannot fancy she'd comprise for me	A2
Even in a park her all sufficiency	A2
Besides my thoughts fly far and when at rest	B2
Love not a watch tow'r but a lulling nest	B2
A Chiswick or a Chatsworth might I grant	C2
Visit my dreams with an ambitious want	D2
But then I should be forc'd to know the weight	E2
Of splendid cares new to my former state	E2
And these 'twould far more fit me to admire	F2
Borne by the graceful ease of noblest Devonshire	F2
Such grounds however as I had should look	G2
Like something still have seats and walks and brook	G2
One spot for flowers the rest all turf and trees	R
For I'd not grow my own bad lettuces	R
I'd build a cover'd path too against rain	H2
Long peradventure as my whole domain	H2
And so be sure of generous exercise	R
The youth of age and med'cine of the wise	R
And this reminds me that behind some screen	I2
About my grounds I'd have a bowling green	I2
Such as in wits' and merry women's days	R
Suckling preferr'd before his walk of bays	R
You may still see them dead as haunts of fairies	R
By the old seats of Killigrews and Careys	R
Where all alas is vanish'd from the ring	A
Wits and black eyes the skittles and the king	A
Fishing I hate because I think about it	J2
Which makes it right that I should do without it	J2
A dinner or a death might not be much	K2
But cruelty's a rod I dare not touch	K2
I own I cannot see my right to feel	L2
For my own jaws and tear a trout's with steel	L2
To troll him here and there and spike and strain	H2
And let him loose to jerk him back again	M2
Fancy a preacher at this sort of work	N2
Not with his trout or gudgeon but his clerk	N2
The clerk leaps gaping at a tempting bit	J2
And hah an ear ache with a knife in it	J2
That there is pain and evil is no rule	O2
That I should make it greater like a fool	O2
Or rid me of my rust so vile a way	P2
As long as there's a single manly play	P2
Nay fool 's a word my pen unjustly writes	R
Knowing what hearts and brains have dozed o'er bites	R
But the next inference to be drawn might be	A2
That higher beings made a trout of me	A2
Which I would rather should not be the case	R
Though Isaak were the saint to tear my face	R
And stooping from his heaven with rod and line	Q2
Made the fell sport with his old dreams divine	Q2
As pleasant to his taste as rough to mine	Q2
Such sophistry no doubt saves half the hell	N
But fish would have preferr'd his reasoning well	N
And if my gills concern'd him so should I	V
The dog I grant is in that equal sky	V
But heaven be prais'd he's not my deity	A2
All manly games I'd play at golf and quoits	R
And cricket to set lungs and limbs to rights	R
And make me conscious with a due respect	R2
Of muscles one forgets by long neglect	R2
With these or bowls aforesaid and a ride	S2
Books music friends the day I would divide	S2
Most with my family but when alone	T2
Absorb'd in some new poem of my own	T2
A task which makes my time so richly pass	R
So like a sunshine cast through painted glass	R
Save where poor Captain Sword crashes the panes	R
That cold my friends live too and were the gains	R
Of toiling men but freed from sordid fears	R
Well could I walk this earth a thousand years	R

James Henry Leigh Hunt

A Thought Or Two On Reading Pomfret's “choice” Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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