Woman! When I Behold Thee Flippant, Vain Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCADCEAFGFFFF FHHFFHHFIJIJIJ KLLKKLLKFMFMFMWoman when I behold thee flippant vain | A |
Inconstant childish proud and full of fancies | B |
Without that modest softening that enhances | C |
The downcast eye repentant of the pain | A |
That its mild light creates to heal again | D |
E'en then elate my spirit leaps and prances | C |
E'en then my soul with exultation dances | E |
For that to love so long I've dormant lain | A |
But when I see thee meek and kind and tender | F |
Heavens how desperately do I adore | G |
Thy winning graces to be thy defender | F |
I hotly burn to be a Calidore | F |
A very Red Cross Knight a stout Leander | F |
Might I be loved by thee like these of yore | F |
- | |
Light feet dark violet eyes and parted hair | F |
Soft dimpled hands white neck and creamy breast | H |
Are things on which the dazzled senses rest | H |
Till the fond fixed eyes forget they stare | F |
From such fine pictures heavens I cannot dare | F |
To turn my admiration though unpossess'd | H |
They be of what is worthy though not drest | H |
In lovely modesty and virtues rare | F |
Yet these I leave as thoughtless as a lark | I |
These lures I straight forget e'en ere I dine | J |
Or thrice my palate moisten but when I mark | I |
Such charms with mild intelligences shine | J |
My ear is open like a greedy shark | I |
To catch the tunings of a voice divine | J |
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Ah who can e'er forget so fair a being | K |
Who can forget her half retiring sweets | L |
God she is like a milk white lamb that bleats | L |
For man's protection Surely the All seeing | K |
Who joys to see us with his gifts agreeing | K |
Will never give him pinions who intreats | L |
Such innocence to ruin who vilely cheats | L |
A dove like bosom In truth there is no freeing | K |
One's thoughts from such a beauty when I hear | F |
A lay that once I saw her hand awake | M |
Her form seems floating palpable and near | F |
Had I e'er seen her from an arbour take | M |
A dewy flower oft would that hand appear | F |
And o'er my eyes the trembling moisture shake | M |
John Keats
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