A Mother In Egypt Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A BCBCDEDE BFBFDGDG DHDHEIEI EJEJKEKE LMLMNONO B BEBPBP

'About midnight will I go out into the midst of Egypt and all the firstborn in the land of Egypt shall die from the firstborn of Pharaoh that sitteth upon the throne even unto the firstborn of the maid servant that is behind the mill 'A
-
-
IS the noise of grief in the palace over the riverB
For this silent one at my sideC
There came a hush in the night and he rose with his hands a quiverB
Like lotus petals adrift on the swing of the tideC
O small soft hands the day groweth old for sleepingD
O small still feet rise up for the hour is lateE
Rise up my son for I hear them mourning and weepingD
In the temple down by the gateE
-
Hushed is the face that was wont to brighten with laughterB
When I sang at the millF
And silence unbroken shall greet the sorrowful dawns hereafterB
The house shall be stillF
Voice after voice takes up the burden of wailingD
Do you heed do you hear in the high priest's house by the wallG
But mine is the grief and their sorrow is all unavailingD
Will he wake at their callG
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Something I saw of the broad dim wings half foldingD
The passionless browH
Something I saw of the sword the shadowy hands were holdingD
What matters it nowH
I held you close dear face as I knelt and harkenedE
To the wind that cried last night like a soul in sinI
When the broad bright stars dropped down and the soft sky darkenedE
And the Presence moved thereinI
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I have heard men speak in the market place of the cityE
Low voiced in a breathJ
Of a god who is stronger than ours and who knows not changing nor pityE
Whose anger is deathJ
Nothing I know of the lords of the outland racesK
But Amun is gentle and Hathor the Mother is mildE
And who would descend from the light of the peaceful placesK
To war on a childE
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Yet here he lies with a scarlet pomegranate petalL
Blown down on his cheekM
The slow sun sinks to the sand like a shield of some burnished metalL
But he does not speakM
I have called I have sung but he neither will hear nor wakenN
So lightly so whitely he lies in the curve of my armO
Like a feather let fall from the bird that the arrow hath takenN
Who could see him and harmO
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'The swallow flies home to her sleep in the eaves of the altarB
And the crane to her nest '-
So do we sing o'er the mill and why ah why should I falterB
Since he goes to his restE
Does he play in their flowers as he played among these with his motherB
Do the gods smile downward and love him and give him their careP
Guard him well O ye gods till I come lest the wrath of that OtherB
Should reach to him thereP

Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall



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