Sickness Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCBDBEF GHIJKJB LMNM O GM PQRQSQTQ UVW XVYV ZA2AA2A2A2B2A2| THE toughest carcass in the town | A |
| Fell sick at last and took to bed | B |
| And on that bed God waited him | C |
| With cool cool hands for his frantic head | B |
| And while the fever did its dance | D |
| They talked and a good thing was said | B |
| 'See I am not that Scriptural | E |
| A lesser kinder God instead ' | F |
| - | |
| - | |
| Fever must run its course and God | G |
| Could not do much for the countryman | H |
| At least he saved him certain dreams | I |
| 'I die O save me if you can | J |
| I am a bruised a beaten slave | K |
| I march in a blistering caravan | J |
| They dash a stone upon my head | B |
| Ah no but that is God's white hand ' | - |
| - | |
| - | |
| God plucked him back and plucked him back | L |
| And did his best to smoothe the pain | M |
| The sick man said it was good to know | N |
| That God was true if prayer was vain | M |
| - | |
| - | |
| 'O God I weary of this night | O |
| When will you bring the dawn again ' | - |
| The night must run its course but God | G |
| Was weary too with watching strain | M |
| - | |
| - | |
| A cluck of tuneless silly birds | P |
| A guilty gray and it was dawn | Q |
| The sick man thumped across the floor | R |
| And slid the curtain that was drawn | Q |
| 'O pale wet dawn O let it shine | S |
| Lustrous and gold on the good green lawn | Q |
| The lustre Lord ' Alas God knows | T |
| When sad conclusions are foregone | Q |
| - | |
| - | |
| The sick man leant upon his Lord | U |
| On that imperfect break of day | V |
| 'Now Lord I die is there no word | W |
| No countervail that God can say ' | - |
| No word But tight upon his arm | X |
| Was God and drew not once away | V |
| Until his punctual destiny | Y |
| To whom could God repair to pray | V |
| - | |
| - | |
| Now God be thanked by dying men | Z |
| Who comrades them in times like these | A2 |
| Who dreads to see the doom come down | A |
| On these black midnight canopies | A2 |
| And on this poisonous glare of dawns | A2 |
| The whole world crumples in disease | A2 |
| But God is pitying to the end | B2 |
| And gives an office to my knees | A2 |
John Crowe Ransom
(1)
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