Late November Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Deep in her broom sedge burs and iron weeds	A
Her frost slain asters and dead mallow moons	B
Where gray the wilding clematis balloons	B
The brake with puff balls where the slow stream leads	A
Her sombre steps decked with the scarlet beads	A
Of hip and haw through dolorous maroons	A
And desolate golds she goes the wailing tunes	A
Of all the winds about her like wild reeds	A
The red wrought iron hues that flush the green	C
Of blackberry briers and the bronze that stains	A
The oak's sere leaves are in her cheeks the gray	D
Of forest pools clocked thin with ice is keen	C
In her cold eyes and in her hair the rain's	A
Chill silver glimmers like a winter ray	D
	-
II	E
	-
Noon	F
	-
Lost in the sleepy grays and drowsy browns	A
Of woodlands smoky with the autumn haze	A
Where dull the last leafed maples smouldering blaze	A
Like ghosts of wigwam fires the Month uncrowns	A
Her frosty hair and where the forest drowns	A
The road in shadows in the rutted ways	A
Filled full of freezing rain her robe she lays	A
Of tattered gold and seats herself and frowns	A
And at her frown each wood and bushy hill	G
Darkens with prescience of approaching storm	H
Her soul's familiar fiend who with wild broom	I
Of wind and rain works her resistless will	G
Sweeping the world and driving with mad arm	J
The clouds like leaves through the tumultuous gloom	I
	-
III	E
	-
Evening	K
	-
The shivering wind sits in the oaks whose limbs	A
Twisted and tortured nevermore are still	G
Grief and decay sit with it they whose chill	G
Autumnal touch makes hectic red the rims	A
Of all the oak leaves desolating dims	A
The ageratum's blue that banks the rill	G
And splits the milkweed's pod upon the hill	G
And shakes it free of the last seed that swims	A
Down goes the day despondent to its close	A
And now the sunset's hands of copper build	L
A tower of brass behind whose burning bars	A
The day in fierce barbarian repose	A
Like some imprisoned Inca sits hate filled	L
Crowned with the gold corymbus of the stars	A
	-
IV	M
	-
Night	N
	-
There is a booming in the forest boughs	A
Tremendous feet seem trampling through the trees	A
The storm is at his wildman revelries	A
And earth and heaven echo his carouse	A
Night reels with tumult And from out her house	A
Of cloud the moon looks like a face one sees	A
In nightmare hurrying with pale eyes that freeze	A
Stooping above with white malignant brows	A
The isolated oak upon the hill	G
That seemed at sunset in terrific lands	A
A Titan head black in a sea of blood	O
Now seems a monster harp whose wild strings thrill	G
To the vast fingering of innumerable hands	A
The Spirits of Tempest and of Solitude	P

Madison Julius Cawein

Late November Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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