Good Friday, 1613. Riding Westward Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCCDDEEFGHHIIJKLLMM NNBBBBCOLLBBLJJJPPJJ BB| Let mans Soule be a Spheare and then in this | A |
| The intelligence that moves devotion is | B |
| And as the other Spheares by being growne | C |
| Subject to forraigne motions lose their owne | C |
| And being by others hurried every day | D |
| Scarce in a yeare their natural forme obey | D |
| Pleasure or businesse so our Soules admit | E |
| For their first mover and are whirld by it | E |
| Hence is's that I am carryed towards the West | F |
| This day when my Soules forme bends toward the East | G |
| There I should see a Sunne by rising set | H |
| And by that setting endlesse day beget | H |
| But that Christ on this Crosse did rise and fall | I |
| Sinne had eternally benighted all | I |
| Yet dare 'almost be glad I do not see | J |
| That spectacle of too much weight for meet | K |
| Who sees Gods face that is selfe life must dye | L |
| What a death were it then to see God dye | L |
| It made his owne Lieutenant Nature shrinke | M |
| It made his footstoole crack and the Sunne winke | M |
| Could I behold those hands which span the Poles | N |
| And tune all spheares at once peirc'd with those holes | N |
| Could I behold that endlesse height which is | B |
| Zenith to us and to'our Antipodes | B |
| Humbled below us or that blood which is | B |
| The seat of all our Soules if not of his | B |
| Make curt of dust or that flesh which was worne | C |
| By God for his apparel rag'd and tome | O |
| If on these things I durst not looke durst I | L |
| Upon his miserable mother cast mine eye | L |
| Who was Gods partner here and furnish'd thus | B |
| Halfe of that Sacrifice which ransom'd us | B |
| Though these things as I ride be from mine eye | L |
| They'are present yet unto my memory | J |
| For that looks towards them and thou look'st towards mee | J |
| O Saviour as thou hang'st upon the tree | J |
| I turne my backe to thee but to receive | P |
| Corrections till thy mercies bid thee leave | P |
| O thinke mee worth shine anger punish mee | J |
| Burne off my rusts and my deformity | J |
| Restore shine Image so much by thy grace | B |
| That thou may'st know mee and I'll turne my face | B |
John Donne
(1)
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