Rural Morning Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCCDDEEFFGHIIJJKKII LLMMNNMMOOPPQQPPRRII SSTT UUVVPPWXPPPPPPYYPPUU QQPPZZA2A2B2 XWPPC2D2E2E2YYF2F2PP XX CCPPG2G2H2H2CCI2I2J2 J2PPK2K2PPL2L2 PPM2N2O2O2P2P2Q2Q2H2 H2PPR2R2S2S2T2U2V2V2 CCFFEEW2W2NNX2X2PPY2 Z2PPZZA3A3FUFUSoon as the twilight through the distant mist | A |
In silver hemmings skirts the purple east | B |
Ere yet the sun unveils his smiles to view | C |
And dries the morning's chilly robes of dew | C |
Young Hodge the horse boy with a soodly gait | D |
Slow climbs the stile or opes the creaky gate | D |
With willow switch and halter by his side | E |
Prepared for Dobbin whom he means to ride | E |
The only tune he knows still whistling oer | F |
And humming scraps his father sung before | F |
As 'Wantley Dragon ' and the 'Magic Rose ' | G |
The whole of music that his village knows | H |
Which wild remembrance in each little town | I |
From mouth to mouth through ages handles down | I |
Onward he jolls nor can the minstrel throngs | J |
Entice him once to listen to their songs | J |
Nor marks he once a blossom on his way | K |
A senseless lump of animated clay | K |
With weather beaten hat of rusty brown | I |
Stranger to brinks and often to a crown | I |
With slop frock suiting to the ploughman's taste | L |
Its greasy skirtings twisted round his waist | L |
And hardened high lows clenched with nails around | M |
Clamping defiance oer the stoney ground | M |
The deadly foes to many a blossomed sprout | N |
That luckless meets him in his morning's rout | N |
In hobbling speed he roams the pasture round | M |
Till hunted Dobbin and the rest are found | M |
Where some from frequent meddlings of his whip | O |
Well know their foe and often try to slip | O |
While Dobbin tamed by age and labour stands | P |
To meet all trouble from his brutish hands | P |
And patient goes to gate or knowly brake | Q |
The teasing burden of his foe to take | Q |
Who soon as mounted with his switching weals | P |
Puts Dob's best swiftness in his heavy heels | P |
The toltering bustle of a blundering trot | R |
Which whips and cudgels neer increased a jot | R |
Though better speed was urged by the clown | I |
And thus he snorts and jostles to the town | I |
- | |
And now when toil and summer's in its prime | S |
In every vill at morning's earliest time | S |
To early risers many a Hodge is seen | T |
And many a Dob's heard clattering oer the green | T |
- | |
Now straying beams from day's unclosing eye | U |
In copper coloured patches flush the sky | U |
And from night's prison strugglingly encroach | V |
To bring the summons of warm day's approach | V |
Till slowly mounting oer the ridge of clouds | P |
That yet half shows his face and half enshrouds | P |
The unfettered sun takes his unbounded reign | W |
And wakes all life to noise and toil again | X |
And while his opening mellows oer the scenes | P |
Of wood and field their many mingling greens | P |
Industry's bustling din once more devours | P |
The soothing peace of morning's early hours | P |
The grunt of hogs freed from their nightly dens | P |
And constant cacklings of new laying hens | P |
And ducks and geese that clamorous joys repeat | Y |
The splashing comforts of the pond to meet | Y |
And chirping sparrows dropping from the eaves | P |
For offal kernels that the poultry leaves | P |
Oft signal calls of danger chittering high | U |
At skulking cats and dogs approaching nigh | U |
And lowing steers that hollow echoes wake | Q |
Around the yard their nightly fast to break | Q |
As from each barn the lumping flail rebounds | P |
In mingling concert with the rural sounds | P |
While oer the distant fields more faintly creep | Z |
The murmuring bleatings of unfolding sheep | Z |
And ploughman's callings that more hoarse proceed | A2 |
Where industry still urges labour's speed | A2 |
The bellowing of cows with udders full | B2 |
That wait the welcome halloo of 'come mull ' | - |
And rumbling waggons deafening again | X |
Rousing the dust along the narrow lane | W |
And cracking whips and shepherd's hooting cries | P |
From woodland echoes urging sharp replies | P |
Hodge in his waggon marks the wondrous tongue | C2 |
And talks with echo as he drives along | D2 |
Still cracks his whip bawls every horse's name | E2 |
And echo still as ready bawls the same | E2 |
The puzzling mystery he would gladly cheat | Y |
And fain would utter what it can't repeat | Y |
Till speedless trials prove the doubted elf | F2 |
As skilled in noise and sounds as Hodge himself | F2 |
And quite convinced with the proofs it gives | P |
The boy drives on and fancies echo lives | P |
Like some wood fiend that frights benighted men | X |
The troubling spirit of a robber's den | X |
- | |
And now the blossom of the village view | C |
With airy hat of straw and apron blue | C |
And short sleeved gown that half to guess reveals | P |
By fine turned arms what beauty it conceals | P |
Whose cheeks health flushes with as sweet a red | G2 |
As that which stripes the woodbine oer her head | G2 |
Deeply she blushes on her morn's employ | H2 |
To prove the fondness of some passing boy | H2 |
Who with a smile that thrills her soul to view | C |
Holds the gate open till she passes through | C |
While turning nods beck thanks for kindness done | I2 |
And looks if looks could speak proclaim her won | I2 |
With well scoured buckets on proceeds the maid | J2 |
And drives her cows to milk beneath the shade | J2 |
Where scarce a sunbeam to molest her steals | P |
Sweet as the thyme that blossoms where she kneels | P |
And there oft scares the cooing amorous dove | K2 |
With her own favoured melodies of love | K2 |
Snugly retired in yet dew laden bowers | P |
This sweetest specimen of rural flowers | P |
Displays red glowing in the morning wind | L2 |
The powers of health and nature when combined | L2 |
- | |
Last on the road the cowboy careless swings | P |
Leading tamed cattle in their tending strings | P |
With shining tin to keep his dinner warm | M2 |
Swung at his back or tucked beneath his arm | N2 |
Whose sun burnt skin and cheeks chuffed out with fat | O2 |
Are dyed as rusty as his napless hat | O2 |
And others driving loose their herds at will | P2 |
Are now heard whooping up the pasture hill | P2 |
Peeled sticks they bear of hazel or of ash | Q2 |
The rib marked hides of restless cows to thrash | Q2 |
In sloven garb appears each bawling boy | H2 |
As fit and suiting to his rude employ | H2 |
His shoes worn down by many blundering treads | P |
Oft show the tenants needing safer sheds | P |
The pithy bunch of unripe nuts to seek | R2 |
And crabs sun reddened with a tempting cheek | R2 |
From pasture hedges daily puts to rack | S2 |
His tattered clothes that scarcely screen the back | S2 |
Daubed all about as if besmeared with blood | T2 |
Stained with the berries of the brambly wood | U2 |
That stud the straggling briars as black as jet | V2 |
Which when his cattle lair he runs to get | V2 |
Or smaller kinds as if beglossed with dew | C |
Shining dim powdered with a downy blue | C |
That on weak tendrils lowly creeping grow | F |
Where choaked in flags and sedges wandering slow | F |
The brook purls simmering its declining tide | E |
Down the crooked boundings of the pasture side | E |
There they to hunt the luscious fruit delight | W2 |
And dabbling keep within their charges' sight | W2 |
Oft catching prickly struttles on their rout | N |
And miller thumbs and gudgeons driving out | N |
Hid near the arched brig under many a stone | X2 |
That from its wall rude passing clowns have thrown | X2 |
And while in peace cows eat and chew their cuds | P |
Moozing cool sheltered neath the skirting woods | P |
To double uses they the hours convert | Y2 |
Turning the toils of labour into sport | Z2 |
Till morn's long streaking shadows lose their tails | P |
And cooling winds swoon into faultering gales | P |
And searching sunbeams warm and sultry creep | Z |
Waking the teazing insects from their sleep | Z |
And dreaded gadflies with their drowsy hum | A3 |
On the burnt wings of mid day zephyrs come | A3 |
Urging each lown to leave his sports in fear | F |
To stop his starting cows that dread the fly | U |
Droning unwelcome tidings on his ear | F |
That the sweet peace of rural morn's gone by | U |
John Clare
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