Blue And Red: Or, The Discontented Lobster Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABCDDEEEEFFGGHIJJKK EEEE LLMMDDEENNOOKKKEEKPK PQQGKGKRR KKKSTEEMMUUSTVVEWWES TVVVXXYYZA2GGGGEE B2C2D2D2EEEEE2E2 YF2YF2G2G2LL EH2EH2DI2DI2J2J2KG2G 2KK2K2 GGGL2L2M2M2MMMN2N2N2 VVO2O2P2P2Q2Q2R2R2DD I2I2 OS2VR2R2VT2T2U2V2G2G 2MMV2V2V2V2EEW2W2EEE EV2V2LLEEX2X2EEEEJJE ELLMMD2D2EDEDV2V2V2V 2LLV2V2V2V2V2V2 Y2Y2I2I2V2V2EEV2V2 V2V2MMV2V2 WD2WD2LL V2EV2ELL V2V2EEEE DDV2V2V2V2 EE| Permit me Reader to make my bow | A |
| And allow | A |
| Me to humbly commend to your tender mercies | B |
| The hero of these simple verses | C |
| By domicile of the British Nation | D |
| By birth and family a Crustacean | D |
| One's hero should have a name that rare is | E |
| And his was Homarus but Vulgaris | E |
| A Lobster who dwelt with several others | E |
| His sisters and brothers | E |
| In a secluded but happy home | F |
| Under the salt sea's foam | F |
| It lay | G |
| At the outermost point of a rocky bay | G |
| A sandy tide pooly cliff bound cove | H |
| With a red roofed fishing village above | I |
| Of irregular cottages perched up high | J |
| Amid pale yellow poppies next to the sky | J |
| Shells and pebbles and wrack below | K |
| And shrimpers shrimping all in a row | K |
| Tawny sails and tarry boats | E |
| Dark brown nets and old cork floats | E |
| Nasty smells at the nicest spots | E |
| And blue jerseyed sailors and lobster pots | E |
| - | |
| It is sweet to be | L |
| At home in the deep deep sea | L |
| It is very pleasant to have the power | M |
| To take the air on dry land for an hour | M |
| And when the mid day midsummer sun | D |
| Is toasting the fields as brown as a bun | D |
| And the sands are baking it's very nice | E |
| To feel as cool as a strawberry ice | E |
| In one's own particular damp sea cave | N |
| Dipping one's feelers in each green wave | N |
| It is good for a very rapacious maw | O |
| When storm tossed morsels come to the claw | O |
| And 'the better to see with' down below | K |
| To wash one's eyes in the ebb and flow | K |
| Of the tides that come and the tides that go | K |
| So sang the Lobsters thankful for their mercies | E |
| All but the hero of these simple verses | E |
| Now a hero | K |
| If he's worth the grand old name | P |
| Though temperature may change from boiling point to zero | K |
| Should keep his temper all the same | P |
| Courageous and content in his estate | Q |
| And proof against the spiteful blows of Fate | Q |
| It therefore troubles me to have to say | G |
| That with this Lobster it was never so | K |
| Whate'er the weather or the sort of day | G |
| No matter if the tide were high or low | K |
| Whatever happened he was never pleased | R |
| And not himself alone but all his kindred teased | R |
| - | |
| Oh oh | K |
| What a world of woe | K |
| We flounder about in here below | K |
| Oh dear oh dear | S |
| It is too too dull down here | T |
| I haven't the slightest patience | E |
| With any of my relations | E |
| I take no interest whatever | M |
| In things they call curious and clever | M |
| And for love of dear truth I state it | U |
| As for my Home I hate it | U |
| I'm convinced I was formed for a larger sphere | S |
| And am utterly out of my element here | T |
| Then his brothers and sisters said | V |
| Each solemnly shaking his and her head | V |
| You put your complaints in most beautiful verse | E |
| And yet we are sure | W |
| That in spite of all you have to endure | W |
| You might go much farther and fare much worse | E |
| We wish you could live in a higher sphere | S |
| But we think you might live happily here | T |
| I don't live I only exist he said | V |
| Be pleased to look upon me as dead | V |
| And he swam to his cave and took to his bed | V |
| He sulked so long that the sisters cried | X |
| Perhaps he has really and truly died | X |
| But the brothers went to the cave to peep | Y |
| For they said Perhaps he is only asleep | Y |
| They found him far too busy to talk | Z |
| With a very large piece of bad salt pork | A2 |
| Dear Brother what luck you have had to day | G |
| Can you tell us pray | G |
| Is there any more pork afloat in the bay | G |
| But not a word would my hero say | G |
| Except to repeat with sad persistence | E |
| This is not life it's only existence | E |
| - | |
| One day there came to the fishing village | B2 |
| An individual bent on pillage | C2 |
| But a robber whom true scientific feeling | D2 |
| May find guilty of picking but not of stealing | D2 |
| He picked the yellow poppies on the cliffs | E |
| He picked the feathery seaweeds in the pools | E |
| He picked the odds and ends from nets and skiffs | E |
| He picked the brains of all the country fools | E |
| He dried the poppies for his own herbarium | E2 |
| And caught the Lobsters for a seaside town aquarium | E2 |
| - | |
| Tank No is deep | Y |
| Tank No is cool | F2 |
| For clever contrivances always keep | Y |
| The water fresh in the pool | F2 |
| And a very fine plate glass window is free to the public view | G2 |
| Through which you can stare at the passers by and the passers by stare at you | G2 |
| Said my hero This is a great variety | L |
| From those dull old rocks where we'd no society | L |
| - | |
| For the primal cause of incidents | E |
| One often hunts about | H2 |
| When it's only a coincidence | E |
| That matters so turned out | H2 |
| And I do not know the reason | D |
| Or the reason I would tell | I2 |
| But it may have been the season | D |
| Why my hero chose this moment for casting off his shell | I2 |
| He had hitherto been dressed | J2 |
| And so had all the rest | J2 |
| In purplish navy blue from top to toe | K |
| But now his coat was new | G2 |
| It was of every shade of blue | G2 |
| Between azure and the deepest indigo | K |
| And his sisters kept telling him till they were tired | K2 |
| There never was any one so much admired | K2 |
| - | |
| My hero was happy at last you will say | G |
| So he was dear Reader two nights and a day | G |
| Then as he and his relatives lay | G |
| Each at the mouth of his mock | L2 |
| Cave in the face of a miniature rock | L2 |
| They saw descending the opposite cliff | M2 |
| By jerks spasmodic of elbows stiff | M2 |
| Now hurriedly slipping now seeming calmer | M |
| With the ease and the grace of a hog in armour | M |
| And as solemn as any ancient palmer | M |
| No less than nine | N2 |
| Exceedingly fine | N2 |
| And full grown lobsters all in a line | N2 |
| But the worst of the matter remains to be said | V |
| These nine big lobsters were all of them red | V |
| And when they got safe to the floor of the tank | O2 |
| For which they had chiefly good luck to thank | O2 |
| They settled their cumbersome coats of mail | P2 |
| And every lobster tucked his tail | P2 |
| Neatly under him as he sat | Q2 |
| In a circle of nine for a cosy chat | Q2 |
| They seemed to be sitting hand in hand | R2 |
| As shoulder to shoulder they sat in the sand | R2 |
| And waved their antenn in calm rotation | D |
| Apparently holding a consultation | D |
| But what were the feelings of Master Blue Shell | I2 |
| Oh gentle Reader how shall I tell | I2 |
| - | |
| - | |
| From the moment that those Nine he saw | O |
| He never could bear his blue coat more | S2 |
| Oh Brothers in misfortune he said | V |
| Did you ever see any lobsters so grand | R2 |
| As those who sit down there in the sand | R2 |
| Why were we born at all since not one of us all was born red | V |
| Dear Brother indeed this is quite a whim | T2 |
| So his brothers and sisters reasoned with him | T2 |
| And being exceedingly cultivated | U2 |
| The case with remarkable fairness stated | V2 |
| Red is a primary colour it's true | G2 |
| But so is Blue | G2 |
| And we all of us think dear Brother | M |
| That one is quite as good as the other | M |
| A swaggering soldier's a saucy varlet | V2 |
| Though he looks uncommonly well in scarlet | V2 |
| No doubt there's much to be said | V2 |
| For a field of poppies of glowing red | V2 |
| For fiery rifts in sunset skies | E |
| Roses and blushes and red sunrise | E |
| For a glow on the Alps and the glow of a forge | W2 |
| A foxglove bank in a woodland gorge | W2 |
| Sparks that are struck from red hot bars | E |
| The sun in a mist and the red star Mars | E |
| Flowers of countless shades and shapes | E |
| Matadors' judges' and gipsies' capes | E |
| The red haired king who was killed in the wood | V2 |
| Robin Redbreast and little Red Riding Hood | V2 |
| Autumn maple and winter holly | L |
| Red letter days of wisdom or folly | L |
| The scarlet ibis rose cockatoos | E |
| Cardinal's gloves and Karen's shoes | E |
| Coral and rubies and huntsmen's pink | X2 |
| Red in short is splendid we think | X2 |
| But then we don't think there's a pin to choose | E |
| If the Guards are handsome so are the Blues | E |
| It's a narrow choice between Sappers and Gunners | E |
| You sow blue beans and rear scarlet runners | E |
| Then think of the blue of a mid day sky | J |
| Of the sea and the hills and a Scotchman's eye | J |
| Of peacock's feathers forget me nots | E |
| Worcester china and jap tea pots | E |
| The blue that the western sky wears casually | L |
| Sapphire turquoise and lapis lazuli | L |
| What can look smarter | M |
| Than the broad blue ribbon of Knights of the Garter | M |
| And if the subject is not too shocking | D2 |
| An intellectual lady's stocking | D2 |
| And who that loves hues | E |
| Could fail to mention | D |
| The wonderful blues | E |
| Of the mountain gentian | D |
| But to all that his brothers and sisters said | V2 |
| He made no reply but I wish I were dead | V2 |
| I'm all over blue and I want to be red | V2 |
| And he moped and pined and took to his bed | V2 |
| That little one looks uncommonly sickly | L |
| Put him back in the sea and put him back quickly | L |
| The voice that spoke was the voice of Fate | V2 |
| And the lobster was soon in his former state | V2 |
| Where as of old he muttered and mumbled | V2 |
| And growled and grumbled | V2 |
| Oh dear what shall I do | V2 |
| I want to be red and I'm all over blue | V2 |
| - | |
| I don't think I ever met with a book | Y2 |
| The evil genius of which was a cook | Y2 |
| But it thus befell | I2 |
| In the tale I have the honour to tell | I2 |
| For as he was fretting and fuming about | V2 |
| A fisherman fished my hero out | V2 |
| And in process of time he heard a voice | E |
| Which made him rejoice | E |
| The voice was the cook's and what she said | V2 |
| Was He'll soon come out a beautiful red | V2 |
| - | |
| He was put in the pot | V2 |
| The water was very hot | V2 |
| The less we say about this the better | M |
| It was all fulfilled to the very letter | M |
| He did become a beautiful red | V2 |
| But then which he did not expect he was dead | V2 |
| - | |
| Some gentle readers cannot well endure | W |
| To see the ill end of a bad beginning | D2 |
| And hope against hope for a nicer cure | W |
| For naughty heroes than to leave off sinning | D2 |
| And yet persisting in behaving badly | L |
| Do what one will does commonly end sadly | L |
| - | |
| But things in general are so much mixed | V2 |
| That every case must stand upon its merits | E |
| And folks' opinions are so little fixed | V2 |
| And no one knows the least what he inherits | E |
| I should be glad to shed some parting glory | L |
| Upon the hero of this simple story | L |
| - | |
| It seems to me a mean end to a ballad | V2 |
| But the truth is he was made into salad | V2 |
| It's not how one's hero should end his days | E |
| In a mayonnaise | E |
| But I'm told that he looked exceedingly nice | E |
| With cream coloured sauce and pale green lettuce and ice | E |
| - | |
| I confess that if he'd been my relation | D |
| This would not afford me any consolation | D |
| For I feel though one likes to speak well of the dead | V2 |
| That it must be said | V2 |
| He need not have died so early lamented | V2 |
| If he'd been content to live contented | V2 |
| - | |
| P S His claws were raised to very high stations | E |
| They keep the earwigs from our carnations | E |
Juliana Horatia Ewing
(1)
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About Blue And Red: Or, The Discontented Lobster
Blue And Red: Or, The Discontented Lobster is a poem by Juliana Horatia Ewing. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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