Mrs. Effingham's Swan Song Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABACBDECDEFGHGIIJKLM NOJPQRGRSTQRRURU VWVXEYEWZZRROO A2B2C2C2D2C2B2ARRAE2 F2E2RRG2RF2H2 I2RDJ2RK2L2D L2K2 M2M2RN2M2RO2N2P2Q2DR 2DS2DT2U2T2V2W2X2W2X 2 M2T2QQT2N2RRP2P2QM2M 2P2Q

I am growing old I have kept youth too longA
But I dare not let them know it nowB
I have done the heart of youth a grievous wrongA
Danced it to dust and drugged it with the roseC
Forced its reluctant lips to one more vowB
I have denied the lawful greyD
So kind so wise to settle in my hairE
I belong no more to April but September has not taught me her reposeC
I wish I had let myself grow old in the quiet wayD
That is so gracious I wish I did not careE
My faded mouth will never flower againF
Under the paint the wrinkles fret my eyesG
My hair is dull beneath its henna stainH
I have come to the last ramparts of disguiseG
And now the day draws on of my defeatI
I shall not meetI
The swift male glance across the crowded roomJ
Where the chance contact of limbs in passing hasK
Its answer in some future fierce embraceL
I shall sit here in the corners looking onM
With the older women withered and overblownN
Who have grown old more graciously than IO
In a sort of safe and comfortable tombJ
Knitting myself into EternityP
And men will talk to me because they are kindQ
Or as cunning or a courtesy demandsR
There will be no hidden question in their eyesG
And no subtle implication in their handsR
And I shall be so grateful who have beenS
So gracious and so tyrannous moving betweenT
Denial and surrender To morrow I shall findQ
How women live who have no lovers and no answer for life's grey monotoniesR
Upon my table will be no more flowersR
They will bring me no more flowers until I am deadU
There will be no violent sweet exciting hoursR
No wild things done or saidU
-
Yet sometimes I'm so tired of it allV
This everlasting battle with the fleshW
This pitiful slavery to the body's thrallV
And then I do not want to lure or charmX
I want to wearE
Soft easy things be comfortable and warmY
I want to drowse at leisure in my chairE
I do not want to wear a veil with heavy meshW
Or sit in shaded rooms afraid to face the lightZ
I do not want to go out every nightZ
And be bright and vivid and intenseR
Nor be on the alert and the defenseR
With other women fierce and afraid as IO
Drawing a knife unseen as each goes byO
-
I am so tired of men and making loveA2
For every one's the sameB2
There's nothing new in love under the sunC2
All love can say or do has long been said and doneC2
I have eaten the fruit of knowledge long enoughD2
Been over kissed over praised and over wonC2
Why should I try to play still the old foolish gameB2
Because I have played the rose's part too longA
Who plays the rose must pay the rose's priceR
And be a rose or nothing till it diesR
And even then sometimes the blood will answer fierce and strongA
To the old hunger to the old dance old tuneE2
I shall feel cruel and passionate and madF2
Though I have lost the look of JuneE2
The fever of the past will burn my handsR
A men who live long in intemperate landsR
Feel the old ague wring them far removedG2
From the old dreadful glitter of seas and sandsR
The rose dies hard in women who have hadF2
Lovers all their lives and have been much lovedH2
-
I am afraid to grow old now even if I wouldI2
I have fought too well too long and what was onceR
A foolish trick to make the rose more strangely gayD
Is now a close locked mortal conflict of brain and bloodJ2
A feud too old to settle or renounceR
I shall grow too tired to struggle and the fight will endK2
And they will enter in at lastL2
Nature and Time long thwarted of their preyD
Those old grey two more cruel for the lips that said them 'Nay '-
For the bitterest foe is he who in the pastL2
Has been repulsed when he fain would be friendK2
-
I am sorry for women who are growing oldM2
I do not blame them for holding youth with shameful holdM2
Or doing desperate things to lips and eyesR
They have so pitifully short a flowering timeN2
So suddenly sweet a story so soon toldM2
They only strive to keep what men have taught them most to prizeR
Men who have longer fuller lives to liveO2
Who are not stopped and broken in their primeN2
With their faces still to summer men do not knowP2
What Age says to a woman They would not waitQ2
To feel slip from their hands without a throeD
Without a struggle futile and desperateR2
All that has given them wealth and love and powerD
Doomed without hope or rumour of reprieveS2
They would not smile into the eyes of that advancing hourD
Who had bent all summer to their bow and had flungT2
The widest rose and kissed the keenest mouthU2
And slept in the lordliest bed when they were youngT2
That bitter twilight which sun worshipping YouthV2
Flies headlong keeps Age loitering on the hillW2
Uneager to fold such greyness to his breastX2
Knowing that none will thwart him of his willW2
None be before him on that questX2
-
I am growing oldM2
I was not always kind when I was youngT2
To women who were old for Youth is blindQ
A small green bitter thing beneath its fragrant rindQ
And fanged against the old with boisterous tongueT2
Those whose poor morning heads are touched with rimeN2
Walking before their misery like kingsR
I did not feel that I should feel such stingsR
Nor flinch beneath such arrows But now I knowP2
One day I shall be stupid and rather slowP2
And easily cowed and troubled in my mindQ
And tremulous vaguely frightened feeble and coldM2
I am growing old My God how old how oldM2
I dare not tell them but one day they will knowP2
I hope they will be kindQ

Muriel Stuart



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