The Quarrel Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDD EE FFGH IIJJ KKLLMM AANO PPQQ RRSSTT KKDD BBUUSSVVWW SSXXYZA2A2WW B2B2

When Mary found fault with me that day the trouble was well begunA
No man likes being found fault with no man really thinks it funA
To have a wisp of a woman in a most obnoxious wayB
Allude to his temper as beastly and remark that day by dayB
He proves himself so careless so lacking in love so meanC
Then add with an air convincing she wishes she'd never seenC
A person who thinks so little of breaking a woman's heartD
And since he is well what he is 'tis better that they should partD
-
Now no man enjoys this performance he has his faults well and goodE
He doesn't want to hear them named this ought to be understoodE
-
Mary was aggravating and all because I'd forgotF
To bring some flowers I'd promised as though it mattered a lotF
But that's the way with a woman your big sins she may forgiveG
But little things not worth mention you hear of as long as you liveH
-
A few sweet peas and carnations to start a tempest forsoothI
For Mary got in a temper I did the same of a truthI
I said things that weren't gentle she pretended not to mindJ
But answered back in a manner that left me away behindJ
-
It ended up in our saying good bye for the rest of our daysK
Both vowing we'd be happier going our different waysK
And I strode out in the garden where the trees were pink and whiteL
Where bobolinks scolded sparrows and robins wild with delightL
Chirped and called and fluttered in the blossoming trees aboveM
Where Nature was busy teaching her lessons of joy and loveM
-
I made a bed of the soft warm earth stretched me out in the sunA
Vext and weary I fell asleep and slept till the day was doneA
The voice of my brother waked me crying Quickly arise and comeN
Bear up like a man Heaven help you Death has suddenly entered your homeO
-
'Twas Mary my own sweet Mary The eyelashes slept on her cheekP
The lips had a half smile on them as though they were going to speakP
Some of the old time tender words witty rejoinder or jestQ
Or ask the question they'd asked so oft Jim who do you love the bestQ
-
But the small hands gave no pressure when I took them in my ownR
And bending down to kiss her face I found it cold as a stoneR
And it came to me I could never never since Mary was deadS
Say Dear one I didn't mean them the bitter words that I saidS
Never see the tears go from her sweet dark eyes and the brightness take their placeT
Never watch the joy and gladness come back to my darling's faceT
-
Not a fault could I remember she'd been perfect all her daysK
With her sweetness and her laughter her tender womanly waysK
Dead dead in her fresh young beauty oh I had an anguished heartD
At thought of the quarrel ending in our agreeing to partD
-
When two people love each other I'll tell you the wisest wayB
'Tis to think before speaking harshly for there surely will come a dayB
When one will sleep on so soundly that he or she will not wakeU
The other sit in the stillness and cry with a great heart breakU
It is to ears all unheeding our tenderest words are saidS
The love that the living long for we waste it upon the deadS
We say this life is so dreary talk much of heaven I knowV
But if we were good to each other we'd have our heaven belowV
Mary I whispered my Mary no flowers to you I gaveW
But I'll heap them on your coffin and plant them over your graveW
-
A bird sang sweetly and shrilly in the blossoms over headS
And I awoke awoke awoke I'd dreamed that Mary was deadS
I woke in the golden sunshine the birds were singing aloudX
There was no still form beside me nor any coffin or shroudX
But just a slip of a woman with her brown eyes full of tearsY
Oh that blessed blessed waking I've remembered through all the yearsZ
I told the story to Mary who hasn't let me forgetA2
That dream in the blossoming orchard I hear of it often yetA2
If I neglect to bring flowers it's Oh you're going to saveW
Your roses to heap on my coffin your pansies to plant on my graveW
-
And if I lose my temper a common weakness of menB2
The sweetest voice in the world says You'll have to get dreaming againB2

Jean Blewett



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The Quarrel is a poem by Jean Blewett. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.



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