Heat-lightning Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEEFGHHIJAAKK LM NON PPAQKKKKKKKKN KKAAKKAAKKRR AAA KK

There was a curious quiet for a spaceA
Directly following and in the faceA
Of one rapt listener pulsed the flush and glowB
Of the heat lightning that pent passions throwB
Long ere the crash of speech He broke the spellC
The host The Traveler's story told so wellC
He said had wakened there within his breastD
A yearning as it were to know the restD
That all unwritten sequence that the LordE
Of Righteousness must write with flame and swordE
Some awful session of His patient thoughtF
Just then it was his good old mother caughtG
His blazing eye so that its fire becameH
But as an ember though it burned the sameH
It seemed to her she said that she had heardI
It was the Heavenly Parent never erredJ
And not the earthly one that had such graceA
'Therefore my son ' she said with lifted faceA
And eyes 'let no one dare anticipateK
The Lord's intent While He waits we will wait'K
And with a gust of reverence genuineL
Then Uncle Mart was aptly ringing inM
-
'' If the darkened heavens lowerN
Wrap thy cloak around thy formO
Though the tempest rise in powerN
God is mightier than the storm ''-
-
Which utterance reached the restive children allP
As something humorous And then a callP
For him to tell a story or to 'sayA
A funny piece ' His face fell right awayQ
He knew no story worthy Then he mustK
Declaim for them In that he could not trustK
His memory And then a happy thoughtK
Struck some one who reached in his vest and broughtK
Some scrappy clippings into light and saidK
There was a poem of Uncle Mart's he readK
Last April in ' The Sentinel ' He hadK
It there in print and knew all would be gladK
To hear it rendered by the authorN
-
AndK
All reasons for declining at commandK
Exhausted the now helpless poet roseA
And said 'I am discovered I supposeA
Though I have taken all precautions notK
To sign my name to any verses wroughtK
By my transcendent genius yet you seeA
Fame wrests my secret from me bodilyA
So I must needs confess I did this deedK
Of poetry red handed nor can pleadK
One whit of unintention in my crimeR
My guilt of rhythm and my glut of rhymeR
-
'Maenides rehearsed a tale of armsA
And Naso told of curious metat mur phosesA
Unnumbered pens have pictured woman's charmsA
While crazy I 've made poetry on purposes '-
-
In other words I stand convicted needK
I say by my own doing as I readK

James Whitcomb Riley



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