The Ploughman Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABBA CDDE FGHF IJJI AKKA LMNL OPPO QJJQ RSSR TJJT LJJL UVVU| Friend mark these muscles mine's a frame | A |
| Born grown and fitted for the toil | B |
| My father tiller of the soil | B |
| Bequeathed them to me with my name | A |
| - | |
| Fear work Nay many times and oft | C |
| Upon my brow the sweat bead stands | D |
| And these two brown and sinewy hands | D |
| Methinks were never white or soft | E |
| - | |
| I earn my bread and know its worth | F |
| Through days that chill and days that warm | G |
| I wrest it with my strong right arm | H |
| From out the bosom of the earth | F |
| - | |
| The moneyed man may boast his wealth | I |
| The high born boast his pedigree | J |
| But greater far it seems to me | J |
| My heritage of brawn and health | I |
| - | |
| My sinews strong my sturdy frame | A |
| My independence free and bold | K |
| Mine is the richest dower I hold | K |
| And ploughman is a noble name | A |
| - | |
| Nor think me all uncouth and rough | L |
| For as I turn the furrows o'er | M |
| Far clearer than the threshing floor | N |
| I see the tender growing stuff | L |
| - | |
| A lab'rer I the long day through | O |
| The lonely stretch of field and wood | P |
| Seem pleasant things to me and good | P |
| The river sings the heaven's blue | O |
| - | |
| Bends down so near the sun crowned hill | Q |
| Thank God I have the eyes to see | J |
| The beauty and the majesty | J |
| Of Nature and the heart to thrill | Q |
| - | |
| At crimson sunset dawn's soft flush | R |
| The fields of gold that stretch afar | S |
| The glimmer of the first pale star | S |
| That heralds in the evening's hush | R |
| - | |
| They lie who say that labor makes | T |
| A brute thing an insensate clod | J |
| Of man the masterpiece of God | J |
| They lie who say that labor takes | T |
| - | |
| All from us save the lust of pelf | L |
| Dulls eye and ear and soul and mind | J |
| For no man need be deaf or blind | J |
| Unless he wills it so himself | L |
| - | |
| This life I live's a goodly thing | U |
| My soul keeps tune to one glad song | V |
| The while I turn the furrows long | V |
| A ploughman happy as a king | U |
Jean Blewett
(1)
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About The Ploughman
The Ploughman is a poem by Jean Blewett. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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