After A Lecture On Wordsworth Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABAB CDCD ACAC EFEF GHGH ICIC JKJK LFLF MCMC NANA OPOP QKRK STST CKCK UVUV CFCF PVPV CWCW CXCX CJCJ YAYA ZCZC LA2LA2 B2C2B2C2 D2ND2N| COME spread your wings as I spread mine | A |
| And leave the crowded hall | B |
| For where the eyes of twilight shine | A |
| O'er evening's western wall | B |
| - | |
| These are the pleasant Berkshire hills | C |
| Each with its leafy crown | D |
| Hark from their sides a thousand rills | C |
| Come singing sweetly down | D |
| - | |
| A thousand rills they leap and shine | A |
| Strained through the shadowy nooks | C |
| Till clasped in many a gathering twine | A |
| They swell a hundred brooks | C |
| - | |
| A hundred brooks and still they run | E |
| With ripple shade and gleam | F |
| Till clustering all their braids in one | E |
| They flow a single stream | F |
| - | |
| A bracelet spun from mountain mist | G |
| A silvery sash unwound | H |
| With ox bow curve and sinuous twist | G |
| It writhes to reach the Sound | H |
| - | |
| This is my bark a pygmy's ship | I |
| Beneath a child it rolls | C |
| Fear not one body makes it dip | I |
| But not a thousand souls | C |
| - | |
| Float we the grassy banks between | J |
| Without an oar we glide | K |
| The meadows drest in living green | J |
| Unroll on either side | K |
| - | |
| Come take the book we love so well | L |
| And let us read and dream | F |
| We see whate'er its pages tell | L |
| And sail an English stream | F |
| - | |
| Up to the clouds the lark has sprung | M |
| Still trilling as he flies | C |
| The linnet sings as there he sung | M |
| The unseen cuckoo cries | C |
| - | |
| And daisies strew the banks along | N |
| And yellow kingcups shine | A |
| With cowslips and a primrose throng | N |
| And humble celandine | A |
| - | |
| Ah foolish dream when Nature nursed | O |
| Her daughter in the West | P |
| The fount was drained that opened first | O |
| She bared her other breast | P |
| - | |
| On the young planet's orient shore | Q |
| Her morning hand she tried | K |
| Then turned the broad medallion o'er | R |
| And stamped the sunset side | K |
| - | |
| Take what she gives her pine's tall stem | S |
| Her elm with hanging spray | T |
| She wears her mountain diadem | S |
| Still in her own proud way | T |
| - | |
| Look on the forests' ancient kings | C |
| The hemlock's towering pride | K |
| Yon trunk had thrice a hundred rings | C |
| And fell before it died | K |
| - | |
| Nor think that Nature saves her bloom | U |
| And slights our grassy plain | V |
| For us she wears her court costume | U |
| Look on its broidered train | V |
| - | |
| The lily with the sprinkled dots | C |
| Brands of the noontide beam | F |
| The cardinal and the blood red spots | C |
| Its double in the stream | F |
| - | |
| As if some wounded eagle's breast | P |
| Slow throbbing o'er the plain | V |
| Had left its airy path impressed | P |
| In drops of scarlet rain | V |
| - | |
| And hark and hark the woodland rings | C |
| There thrilled the thrush's soul | W |
| And look that flash of flamy wings | C |
| The fire plumed oriole | W |
| - | |
| Above the hen hawk swims and swoops | C |
| Flung from the bright blue sky | X |
| Below the robin hops and whoops | C |
| His piercing Indian cry | X |
| - | |
| Beauty runs virgin in the woods | C |
| Robed in her rustic green | J |
| And oft a longing thought intrudes | C |
| As if we might have seen | J |
| - | |
| Her every finger's every joint | Y |
| Ringed with some golden line | A |
| Poet whom Nature did anoint | Y |
| Had our wild home been thine | A |
| - | |
| Yet think not so Old England's blood | Z |
| Runs warm in English veins | C |
| But wafted o'er the icy flood | Z |
| Its better life remains | C |
| - | |
| Our children know each wildwood smell | L |
| The bayberry and the fern | A2 |
| The man who does not know them well | L |
| Is all too old to learn | A2 |
| - | |
| Be patient On the breathing page | B2 |
| Still pants our hurried past | C2 |
| Pilgrim and soldier saint and sage | B2 |
| The poet comes the last | C2 |
| - | |
| Though still the lark voiced matins ring | D2 |
| The world has known so long | N |
| The wood thrush of the West shall sing | D2 |
| Earth's last sweet even song | N |
Oliver Wendell Holmes
(1)
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