November Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABABBCBCC DEFEEGEHH AIAIIJIJJ KIKIILILL MLMLLNLNN OPOPPHQGH IMIMMHMGG MMMMMIMII RMRMMRMRRThe landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon | A |
And if the sun looks through 'tis with a face | B |
Beamless and pale and round as if the moon | A |
When done the journey of her nightly race | B |
Had found him sleeping and supplied his place | B |
For days the shepherds in the fields may be | C |
Nor mark a patch of sky blindfold they trace | B |
The plains that seem without a bush or tree | C |
Whistling aloud by guess to flocks they cannot see | C |
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The timid hare seems half its fears to lose | D |
Crouching and sleeping 'neath its grassy lair | E |
And scarcely startles tho' the shepherd goes | F |
Close by its home and dogs are barking there | E |
The wild colt only turns around to stare | E |
At passer by then knaps his hide again | G |
And moody crows beside the road forbear | E |
To fly tho' pelted by the passing swain | H |
Thus day seems turn'd to night and tries to wake in vain | H |
- | |
The owlet leaves her hiding place at noon | A |
And flaps her grey wings in the doubling light | I |
The hoarse jay screams to see her out so soon | A |
And small birds chirp and startle with affright | I |
Much doth it scare the superstitious wight | I |
Who dreams of sorry luck and sore dismay | J |
While cow boys think the day a dream of night | I |
And oft grow fearful on their lonely way | J |
Fancying that ghosts may wake and leave their graves by day | J |
- | |
Yet but awhile the slumbering weather flings | K |
Its murky prison round then winds wake loud | I |
With sudden stir the startled forest sings | K |
Winter's returning song cloud races cloud | I |
And the horizon throws away its shroud | I |
Sweeping a stretching circle from the eye | L |
Storms upon storms in quick succession crowd | I |
And o'er the sameness of the purple sky | L |
Heaven paints with hurried hand wild hues of every dye | L |
- | |
At length it comes along the forest oaks | M |
With sobbing ebbs and uproar gathering high | L |
The scared hoarse raven on its cradle croaks | M |
And stockdove flocks in hurried terrors fly | L |
While the blue hawk hangs o'er them in the sky | L |
The hedger hastens from the storm begun | N |
To seek a shelter that may keep him dry | L |
And foresters low bent the wind to shun | N |
Scarce hear amid the strife the poacher's muttering gun | N |
- | |
The ploughman hears its humming rage begin | O |
And hies for shelter from his naked toil | P |
Buttoning his doublet closer to his chin | O |
He bends and scampers o'er the elting soil | P |
While clouds above him in wild fury boil | P |
And winds drive heavily the beating rain | H |
He turns his back to catch his breath awhile | Q |
Then ekes his speed and faces it again | G |
To seek the shepherd's hut beside the rushy plain | H |
- | |
The boy that scareth from the spiry wheat | I |
The melancholy crow in hurry weaves | M |
Beneath an ivied tree his sheltering seat | I |
Of rushy flags and sedges tied in sheaves | M |
Or from the field a shock of stubble thieves | M |
There he doth dithering sit and entertain | H |
His eyes with marking the storm driven leaves | M |
Oft spying nests where he spring eggs had ta'en | G |
And wishing in his heart 'twas summer time again | G |
- | |
Thus wears the month along in checker'd moods | M |
Sunshine and shadows tempests loud and calms | M |
One hour dies silent o'er the sleepy woods | M |
The next wakes loud with unexpected storms | M |
A dreary nakedness the field deforms | M |
Yet many a rural sound and rural sight | I |
Lives in the village still about the farms | M |
Where toil's rude uproar hums from morn till night | I |
Noises in which the ears of Industry delight | I |
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At length the stir of rural labour's still | R |
And Industry her care awhile forgoes | M |
When Winter comes in earnest to fulfil | R |
His yearly task at bleak November's close | M |
And stops the plough and hides the field in snows | M |
When frost locks up the stream in chill delay | R |
And mellows on the hedge the jetty sloes | M |
For little birds then Toil hath time for play | R |
And nought but threshers' flails awake the dreary day | R |
John Clare
(1)
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