The First Quarter Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BCCBBCCBDCEDCE F A GHHGGGGGICJICJ F K LCCMLCCMCCCCCC| January | A |
| - | |
| Shaggy with skins of frost furred gray and drab | B |
| Harsh hoary hair framing a bitter face | C |
| He bends above the dead Year's fireplace | C |
| Nursing the last few embers of its slab | B |
| To sullen glow from pinched lips cold and crab | B |
| The starved flame shrinks his breath like a men ce | C |
| Shrieks in the flue fluttering its sooty lace | C |
| Piercing the silence like an icy stab | B |
| From rheum gnarled knees he rises slow with cold | D |
| And to the frost bound window muttering goes | C |
| With iron knuckles knocking on the pane | E |
| And lo outside his minions manifold | D |
| Answer the summons wolf like shapes of woes | C |
| Hunger and suffering trooping to his train | E |
| - | |
| II | F |
| - | |
| February | A |
| - | |
| Gray muf fled to his eyes in rags of cloud | G |
| His whip of winds forever in his hand | H |
| Driving the herded storms along the land | H |
| That shake the wild sleet from wild hair and crowd | G |
| Heaven with tumultuous bulks he comes lowbrowed | G |
| And heavy eyed the hail like stinging sand | G |
| Whirls white behind swept backward by his band | G |
| Of wild hoofed gales that o'er the world ring loud | G |
| All day the tatters of his dark cloak stream | I |
| Congealing moisture till in solid ice | C |
| The forests stand and clang on thunderous clang | J |
| All night is heard as in the moon's cold gleam | I |
| Tightens his grip of frost his iron vise | C |
| The boom of bursting boughs that icicles fang | J |
| - | |
| III | F |
| - | |
| March | K |
| - | |
| This is the tomboy month of all the year | L |
| March who comes shouting o'er the winter hills | C |
| Waking the world with laughter as she wills | C |
| Or wild halloos a windflower in her ear | M |
| She stops a moment by the half thawed mere | L |
| And whistles to the wind and straightway shrills | C |
| The hyla's song and hoods of daffodils | C |
| Crowd golden 'round her leaning their heads to hear | M |
| Then through the woods that drip with all their eaves | C |
| Her mad hair blown about her loud she goes | C |
| Singing and calling to the naked trees | C |
| And straight the oilets of the little leaves | C |
| Open their eyes in wonder rows on rows | C |
| And the first bluebird bugles to the breeze | C |
Madison Julius Cawein
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