Poet James Henry Leigh Hunt

James Henry Leigh Hunt

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Sudden Fine Weather Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABB CCDDEEE FFGGHIJJKKLL MMNNOOPPQQ RRSSTTSSSSUUSSSS SSVV SSSSSSSSS

Reader what soul that laoves a verse can seeA
The spring return nor glow like you and meA
Hear the quick birds and see the landscape fillB
Nor long to utter his melodious willB
-
This more than ever leaps into the veinsC
When spring has been delay'd by winds and rainsC
And coming with a burst comes like a showD
Blue all above and basking green belowD
And all the people culling the sweet primeE
Then issues forth the bee to clutch the thymeE
And the bee poet rushes into rhymeE
-
For lo no sooner has the cold withdrawnF
Than the bright elm is tufted on the lawnF
The merry sap has run up in the bowersG
And bursts the windows of the buds in flowersG
With song the bosoms of the birds run o'erH
The cuckoo calls the swallow's at the doorI
And apple tree at noon with bees aliveJ
Burn with the golden chorus of the hiveJ
Now all these sweets these sounds this vernal blazeK
Is but one joy express'd a thousand waysK
And honey from the flowers and song from birdsL
Are from the poet's pen his oeverflowing wordsL
-
Ah friends methinks it were a pleasant sphereM
If like the trees we blossom'd every yearM
If locks grew thick again and rosy dyesN
Return'd in cheeks and raciness in eyesN
And all around us vital to the tipsO
The human orchard laugh'd with cherry lipsO
Lord what a burst of merriment and playP
Fair dames were that and what a first of MayP
So natural is the wish that bards gone byQ
Have left it all in some immortal sighQ
-
And yet the winter months were not so wellR
Who would like changing as the seasons fellR
Fade every year and stare midst ghastly friendsS
With falling hairs and stuck out fingers' endsS
Besides this tale of youth that comes againT
Is no more true of apple trees than menT
The Swedish sage the Newton of the flow'rsS
Who first found out those worlds of paramoursS
Tells us that every blossom that we seeS
Boasts in its walls a separate familyS
So that a tree is but a sort of standU
That holds those afilial fairies in its handU
Just as Swift's giant might have held a bevyS
Of Lilliputian ladies or a leveeS
It is not her that blooms it is his raceS
Who honour his old arms and hide his rugged faceS
-
Ye wits and bards then pray discern your dutyS
And learn the lastingness of human beautyS
Your finest fruit to some two months may reachV
I've known a cheek at forth like a peachV
-
But see the weather calls me Here's a beeS
Comes bounding in my room imperiouslyS
And talking to himself hastily burnsS
About mine ear and so in heat returnsS
O little brethren of the fervid soulS
Kissers of flowers lords of the golden bowlS
I follow to your fields and tusted brooksS
Winter's the time to which the poet looksS
For hiving his sweet thoughts and making honied booksS

James Henry Leigh Hunt



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