The Cress-gatherer. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABCDEFFGGHHIIJJKKLL MMNNOOOOOOPQHHOORRSS SSSSOOTSUUVVWWMMXXYZ SSOOA2A2SSB2C2MMSSSS D2D2SSSS E2E2MMF2F2G2G2H2H2SS I2J2MMK2L2MMJJM2M2K2 K2SSF2F2SSN2OOOO2O2| Soon as the spring its earliest visit pays | A |
| And buds with March and April's lengthen'd days | A |
| Of mingled suns and shades and snow and rain | B |
| Forcing the crackling frost to melt again | C |
| Oft sprinkling from their bosoms as they come | D |
| A dwindling daisy here and there to bloom | E |
| I mark the widow and her orphan boy | F |
| In preparation for their old employ | F |
| The cloak and hat that had for seasons past | G |
| Repell'd the rain and buffeted the blast | G |
| Though worn to shreddings still are occupied | H |
| In make shift way their nakedness to hide | H |
| For since her husband died her hopes are few | I |
| When time's worn out the old to purchase new | I |
| Upon the green they're seen by rising sun | J |
| To sharp winds croodling they would vainly shun | J |
| With baskets on their arm and hazel crooks | K |
| Dragging the sprouting cresses from the brooks | K |
| A savoury sallad sought for Luxury's whim | L |
| Though small reward her labours meet from him | L |
| When parcel'd out she humbly takes for sale | M |
| The simple produce of the water'd vale | M |
| In yearly visits to some market town | N |
| Meeting by turns a penny and a frown | N |
| Of all the masks deception ever weaves | O |
| Life thine's the visage that the most deceives | O |
| One hour of thine an emperor's gory greets | O |
| Another turns him begging in the streets | O |
| E'en this poor wretch thy meanest link who lives | O |
| On scantiest sustenance that labour gives | O |
| Has known her better days whom thou times gone | P |
| E'en condescended to look kindly on | Q |
| Things went not thus when abler hands supplied | H |
| Life's vain existence ere her husband died | H |
| Who various ways a living did pursue | O |
| Clerk of the parish and schoolmaster too | O |
| He punctual always rang the evening bell | R |
| And sang Amen on Sundays loud and well | R |
| And though not nice in this and that respect | S |
| Was rarely found his duty to neglect | S |
| His worldly ways religions ne'er perplext | S |
| He never fail'd to recollect the text | S |
| Or quote the sermon's passages by heart | S |
| In warm devotion o'er an honest quart | S |
| And as a brother of those subtle tools | O |
| That make such figuring in our country schools | O |
| He lov'd his skill to flourish and to show | T |
| As well as godly he was learned too | S |
| Though with the boast most common to his kin | U |
| The use of figures he knew little in | U |
| By far too puzzling for his head were they | V |
| He sought fame's purchase by an easier way | V |
| And like his scholars with his A B C | W |
| Was found more ready than with rule of three | W |
| He'd many things to crack on with his ale | M |
| For clowns less learn'd to wonder at the tale | M |
| And o'er his pot he'd take the news and preach | X |
| And observations make from speech to speech | X |
| Till those around him swore each wise remark | Y |
| Show'd him more fit for parson than for clerk | Z |
| To minutes he would tell when moons were new | S |
| And of eclipses talk the seasons through | S |
| Run o'er as ready as he'd read his prayers | O |
| All the saint days the calendar declares | O |
| Mystic conclusions draw from many a sign | A2 |
| Which made him judge of weather foul or fine | A2 |
| And dripping moons or suns in crimson set | S |
| To him sure tokens were of fair or wet | S |
| Of wonders he knew all the yearly store | B2 |
| That fill the learned almanacks of Moore | C2 |
| Earthquakes and plagues and floods when they befel | M |
| From second father Noah's day could tell | M |
| Till most gave out had he divulg'd his trade | S |
| The best of almanacks he would have made | S |
| And much they wonder'd when he died to find | S |
| He left no fragment of his art behind | S |
| And as he always for the sake of fame | D2 |
| Conceal'd the sources whence his learning came | D2 |
| His artless list'ners who of books none knew | S |
| 'Sides the large Bible in the parson's pew | S |
| Thought he more things than lawful understood | S |
| And knowledge got from helpers not too good | S |
| - | |
| When he was living she had food on shelf | E2 |
| And knew no trials to support herself | E2 |
| Though industry would oft from leisure steal | M |
| Odd hours to knit or turn the spinning wheel | M |
| Choice is not misery she had neighbour's fare | F2 |
| Got hand to mouth and decent clothes to wear | F2 |
| Though joys fall sparing in this checqer'd life | G2 |
| Wide difference parts the widow from the wife | G2 |
| Encroaching want show'd not such frightful form | H2 |
| Nor drove her dithering in the 'numbing storm | H2 |
| Picking half naked round the brooks for bread | S |
| To earn her penny ere she can be fed | S |
| In grief pursuing every chance to live | I2 |
| That timely toils in seasons please to give | J2 |
| Through hot and cold come weather as it will | M |
| Striving with pain and disappointed still | M |
| Just keeping from expiring life's last fire | K2 |
| That pining lingers ready to expire | L2 |
| The winter through near barefoot left to pull | M |
| From bramble twigs her little mites of wool | M |
| A hard earn'd sixpence when her mops are spun | J |
| By many a walk and aching finger won | J |
| And seeking hirpling round from time to time | M2 |
| Her harmless sticks from hedges hung with rime | M2 |
| The daily needings want's worst shifts require | K2 |
| To hunt her fuel ere she makes her fire | K2 |
| Where she while grinning to the hissing blast | S |
| With buds or berries often breaks her fast | S |
| All summer too the little rest of care | F2 |
| Is every morning cheated of its share | F2 |
| And ere one sunbeam glistens in the dew | S |
| The long wet pasture grass she dabbles through | S |
| Where sprout the mushrooms in the fairy ring | N2 |
| Which night's black mystery to perfection brings | O |
| And these she seeks ere 'gin her early toils | O |
| As extra gains to labour's scanty spoils | O |
| By every means thus ling'ring life along | O2 |
| Continual struggling 'gainst a stream too strong | O2 |
John Clare
(1)
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About The Cress-gatherer.
The Cress-gatherer. is a poem by John Clare. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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