Sunday Walks. Poem Rhyme Scheme

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How fond the rustic's ear at leisure dwells	A
On the soft soundings of his village bells	A
As on a Sunday morning at his ease	B
He takes his rambles just as fancies please	B
Down narrow balks that intersect the fields	C
Hid in profusion that its produce yields	C
Long twining peas in faintly misted greens	D
And wing'd leaf multitudes of crowding beans	D
And flighty oatlands of a lighter hue	E
And speary barley bowing down with dew	E
And browning wheat ear on its taper stalk	F
With gentle breezes bending o'er the balk	F
Greeting the parting hand that brushes near	G
With patting welcomes of a plenteous year	G
Or narrow lanes where cool and gloomy sweet	H
Hedges above head in an arbour meet	H
Meandering down and resting for awhile	I
Upon a moss clad molehill or a stile	I
While every scene that on his leisure crowds	J
Wind waving valleys and light passing clouds	J
In brighter colours seems to meet the eye	K
Than in the bustle of the days gone by	K
A peaceful solitude around him creeps	L
And nature seemly o'er her quiet sleeps	L
No noise is heard save sutherings through the trees	B
Of brisk wind gushes or a trembling breeze	B
And song of linnets in the hedge row thorn	M
Twittering their welcomes to the day's return	N
And hum of bees where labour's doom'd to stray	O
In ceaseless bustle on his weary way	O
And low of distant cattle here and there	P
Seeking the stream or dropping down to lair	P
And bleat of sheep and horses' playful neigh	Q
From rustic's whips and plough and waggon free	R
Baiting in careless freedom o'er the leas	B
Or turn'd to knap each other at their ease	B
While 'neath the bank on which he rests his head	S
The brook mourns drippling o'er its pebbly bed	S
And whimpers soothingly a calm serene	T
O'er the lull'd comforts of a Sunday scene	T
He ponders round and muses with a smile	I
On thriving produce of his earlier toil	U
What once were kernels from his hopper sown	V
Now browning wheat ears and oat bunches grown	V
And pea pods swell'd by blossoms long forsook	W
And nearly ready for the scythe and hook	W
He pores with wonder on the mighty change	X
Which suns and showers perform and think it strange	X
And though no philosophic reasoning draws	Y
His musing marvels home to nature's cause	Z
A simple feeling in him turns his eye	K
To where the thin clouds smoke along the sky	K
And there his soul consents the Power must reign	A2
Who rules the year and shoots the spindling grain	A2
Lights up the sun and sprinkles rain below	B2
The fount of nature whence all causes flow	B2
Thus much the feeling of his bosom warms	C2
Nor seeks he further than his soul informs	C2
	-
A six days' prisoner life's support to earn	N
From dusty cobwebs and the murky barn	D2
The weary thresher meets the rest that's given	E2
And thankful soothes him in the boon of heaven	E2
But happier still in Sabbath walks he feels	F2
With love's sweet pledges poddling at his heels	F2
That oft divert him with their childish glee	R
In fruitless chases after bird and bee	R
And eager gathering every flower they pass	G2
Of yellow lambtoe and the totter grass	G2
Oft whimper round him disappointment's sigh	K
At sight of blossom that's in bloom too high	K
And twitch his sleeve with all their coaxing powers	H2
To urge his hand to reach the tempting flowers	H2
Then as he climbs their eager hopes to crown	I2
On gate or stile to pull the blossoms down	I2
Of pale hedge roses straggling wild and tall	J2
And scrambling woodbines that outgrow them all	J2
He turns to days when he himself would teaze	H2
His tender father for such toys as these	H2
And smiles with rapture as he plucks the flowers	H2
To meet the feelings of those lovely hours	H2
And blesses Sunday's rest whose peace at will	K2
Retains a portion of those pleasures still	K2
	-
But when the duty of the day's expir'd	L2
And priest and parish offer what's requir'd	M2
When godly farmer shuts his book again	N2
To talk of profits from advancing grain	A2
Short memory keeping what the parson read	S
Prayers 'neath his arm and business in his head	S
And dread of boys the clerk is left to close	H2
The creaking church door on its week's repose	H2
Then leave me Sunday's remnant to employ	O2
In seeking sweets of solitary joy	O2
And lessons learning from a simple tongue	P2
Where nature preaches in a cricket's song	Q2
Where every tiny thing that flies and creeps	H2
Some feeble language owns its prayer to raise	H2
Where all that lives by noise or silence keeps	H2
A homely sabbath in its Maker's praise	H2
	-
There free from labour let my musings stray	O
Where footpaths ramble from the public way	O
In quiet loneliness o'er many a scene	T
Through grassy close or grounds of blossom'd bean	T
Oft winding balks where groves of willows spread	S
Their welcome waving shadows over head	S
And thorns beneath in woodbines often drest	S
Inviting strongly in their peace to rest	S
Or wildly left to follow choice at will	K2
O'er many a trackless vale and pathless hill	K2
Or nature's wilderness o'er heaths of goss	H2
Each footstep sinking ankle deep in moss	H2
By pleasing interruptions often tied	S
A hedge to clamber or a brook to stride	S
Where no approaching feet or noises rude	S
Molest the quiet of one's solitude	S
Save birds their song broke by a false alarm	R2
Through branches fluttering from their fancy'd harm	R2
And cows and sheep with startled low and bleat	S
Disturb'd from lair by one's unwelcome feet	S
The all that's met in Sunday's slumbering ease	H2
That adds to more than checks the power to please	H2
And sweet it is to creep one's blinded way	O
Where woodland boughs shut out the smiles of day	O
Where hemm'd in glooms that scarce give leave to spy	K
A passing cloud or patch of purple sky	K
We track half hidden from the world besides	H2
Sweet hermit nature that in woodlands hides	H2
Where nameless flowers that never meet the sun	E2
Like bashful modesty the sight to shun	E2
Bud in their snug retreat and bloom and die	K
Without one notice of a passing eye	K
There while I drop me in the woody waste	S
'Neath arbours Nature fashions to her taste	S
Entwining oak trees with the ivy's gloom	S2
And woodbines propping over boughs to bloom	S2
And scallop'd briony mingling round her bowers	H2
Whose fine bright leaves make up the want of flowers	H2
With nature's minstrels of the woods let me	R
Thou Lord of sabbaths add a song to thee	R
An humble offering for the holy day	O
Which thou most wise and graciously hast given	E2
As leisure dropt in labour's rugged way	O
To claim a passport with the rest to heaven	E2

John Clare

Sunday Walks. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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