The Garden Of Eros Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABABCC DEDFBB GDGDHH FIGIGG IFIFJJ GKGFDD FFFFFF IGIGBLB FIFIMM ININGG KFKFGNG GKGKGG NFNFDK IFIFGG FGFGII DFDFII KFKFFF DKDKDD KKKKDD KBKBFF KKKKDD KKKKFOF BDBKNN DKKKDD FPFQBB DKDBKK KKKKKK KDKDKK FKFKKK KPKPKK FKFKFF FKFKKF DKDKKK RDRDBB QBSBFB TKUKKK FFFFKK FFFFVV UFUFKK WFWFKK FKFKDD KKKKKK FKDKKK KXKXDD KFKFQQ KDKDFF

It is full summer now the heart of JuneA
Not yet the sunburnt reapers are astirB
Upon the upland meadow where too soonA
Rich autumn time the season's usurerB
Will lend his hoarded gold to all the treesC
And see his treasure scattered by the wild and spendthrift breezeC
-
Too soon indeed yet here the daffodilD
That love child of the Spring has lingered onE
To vex the rose with jealousy and stillD
The harebell spreads her azure pavilionF
And like a strayed and wandering revellerB
Abandoned of its brothers whom long since June's messengerB
-
The missel thrush has frighted from the gladeG
One pale narcissus loiters fearfullyD
Close to a shadowy nook where half afraidG
Of their own loveliness some violets lieD
That will not look the gold sun in the faceH
For fear of too much splendour ah methinks it is a placeH
-
Which should be trodden by PersephoneF
When wearied of the flowerless fields of DisI
Or danced on by the lads of ArcadyG
The hidden secret of eternal blissI
Known to the Grecian here a man might findG
Ah you and I may find it now if Love and Sleep be kindG
-
There are the flowers which mourning HeraklesI
Strewed on the tomb of Hylas columbineF
Its white doves all a flutter where the breezeI
Kissed them too harshly the small celandineF
That yellow kirtled chorister of eveJ
And lilac lady's smock but let them bloom alone and leaveJ
-
Yon spired hollyhock red crocketedG
To sway its silent chimes else must the beeK
Its little bellringer go seek insteadG
Some other pleasaunce the anemoneF
That weeps at daybreak like a silly girlD
Before her love and hardly lets the butterflies unfurlD
-
Their painted wings beside it bid it pineF
In pale virginity the winter snowF
Will suit it better than those lips of thineF
Whose fires would but scorch it rather goF
And pluck that amorous flower which blooms aloneF
Fed by the pander wind with dust of kisses not its ownF
-
The trumpet mouths of red convolvulusI
So dear to maidens creamy meadow sweetG
Whiter than Juno's throat and odorousI
As all Arabia hyacinths the feetG
Of Huntress Dian would be loth to marB
For any dappled fawn pluck these and those fond flowers whichL
areB
-
Fairer than what Queen Venus trod uponF
Beneath the pines of Ida eucharisI
That morning star which does not dread the sunF
And budding marjoram which but to kissI
Would sweeten Cytheraea's lips and makeM
Adonis jealous these for thy head and for thy girdle takeM
-
Yon curving spray of purple clematisI
Whose gorgeous dye outflames the Tyrian KingN
And foxgloves with their nodding chalicesI
But that one narciss which the startled SpringN
Let from her kirtle fall when first she heardG
In her own woods the wild tempestuous song of summer's birdG
-
Ah leave it for a subtle memoryK
Of those sweet tremulous days of rain and sunF
When April laughed between her tears to seeK
The early primrose with shy footsteps runF
From the gnarled oak tree roots till all the woldG
Spite of its brown and trampled leaves grew bright with shimmeringN
goldG
-
Nay pluck it too it is not half so sweetG
As thou thyself my soul's idolatryK
And when thou art a wearied at thy feetG
Shall oxlips weave their brightest tapestryK
For thee the woodbine shall forget its prideG
And veil its tangled whorls and thou shalt walk on daisies piedG
-
And I will cut a reed by yonder springN
And make the wood gods jealous and old PanF
Wonder what young intruder dares to singN
In these still haunts where never foot of manF
Should tread at evening lest he chance to spyD
The marble limbs of Artemis and all her companyK
-
And I will tell thee why the jacinth wearsI
Such dread embroidery of dolorous moanF
And why the hapless nightingale forbearsI
To sing her song at noon but weeps aloneF
When the fleet swallow sleeps and rich men feastG
And why the laurel trembles when she sees the lightening eastG
-
And I will sing how sad ProserpinaF
Unto a grave and gloomy Lord was wedG
And lure the silver breasted HelenaF
Back from the lotus meadows of the deadG
So shalt thou see that awful lovelinessI
For which two mighty Hosts met fearfully in war's abyssI
-
And then I'll pipe to thee that Grecian taleD
How Cynthia loves the lad EndymionF
And hidden in a grey and misty veilD
Hies to the cliffs of Latmos once the SunF
Leaps from his ocean bed in fruitless chaseI
Of those pale flying feet which fade away in his embraceI
-
And if my flute can breathe sweet melodyK
We may behold Her face who long agoF
Dwelt among men by the AEgean seaK
And whose sad house with pillaged porticoF
And friezeless wall and columns toppled downF
Looms o'er the ruins of that fair and violet cinctured townF
-
Spirit of Beauty tarry still awhileD
They are not dead thine ancient votariesK
Some few there are to whom thy radiant smileD
Is better than a thousand victoriesK
Though all the nobly slain of WaterlooD
Rise up in wrath against them tarry still there are a fewD
-
Who for thy sake would give their manlihoodK
And consecrate their being I at leastK
Have done so made thy lips my daily foodK
And in thy temples found a goodlier feastK
Than this starved age can give me spite of allD
Its new found creeds so sceptical and so dogmaticalD
-
Here not Cephissos not Ilissos flowsK
The woods of white Colonos are not hereB
On our bleak hills the olive never blowsK
No simple priest conducts his lowing steerB
Up the steep marble way nor through the townF
Do laughing maidens bear to thee the crocus flowered gownF
-
Yet tarry for the boy who loved thee bestK
Whose very name should be a memoryK
To make thee linger sleeps in silent restK
Beneath the Roman walls and melodyK
Still mourns her sweetest lyre none can playD
The lute of Adonais with his lips Song passed awayD
-
Nay when Keats died the Muses still had leftK
One silver voice to sing his threnodyK
But ah too soon of it we were bereftK
When on that riven night and stormy seaK
Panthea claimed her singer as her ownF
And slew the mouth that praised her since which time we walkO
aloneF
-
Save for that fiery heart that morning starB
Of re arisen England whose clear eyeD
Saw from our tottering throne and waste of warB
The grand Greek limbs of young DemocracyK
Rise mightily like Hesperus and bringN
The great Republic him at least thy love hath taught to singN
-
And he hath been with thee at ThessalyD
And seen white Atalanta fleet of footK
In passionless and fierce virginityK
Hunting the tusked boar his honied luteK
Hath pierced the cavern of the hollow hillD
And Venus laughs to know one knee will bow before her stillD
-
And he hath kissed the lips of ProserpineF
And sung the Galilaean's requiemP
That wounded forehead dashed with blood and wineF
He hath discrowned the Ancient Gods in himQ
Have found their last most ardent worshipperB
And the new Sign grows grey and dim before its conquerorB
-
Spirit of Beauty tarry with us stillD
It is not quenched the torch of poesyK
The star that shook above the Eastern hillD
Holds unassailed its argent armouryB
From all the gathering gloom and fretful fightK
O tarry with us still for through the long and common nightK
-
Morris our sweet and simple Chaucer's childK
Dear heritor of Spenser's tuneful reedK
With soft and sylvan pipe has oft beguiledK
The weary soul of man in troublous needK
And from the far and flowerless fields of iceK
Has brought fair flowers to make an earthly paradiseK
-
We know them all Gudrun the strong men's brideK
Aslaug and Olafson we know them allD
How giant Grettir fought and Sigurd diedK
And what enchantment held the king in thrallD
When lonely Brynhild wrestled with the powersK
That war against all passion ah how oft through summer hoursK
-
Long listless summer hours when the noonF
Being enamoured of a damask roseK
Forgets to journey westward till the moonF
The pale usurper of its tribute growsK
From a thin sickle to a silver shieldK
And chides its loitering car how oft in some cool grassy fieldK
-
Far from the cricket ground and noisy eightK
At Bagley where the rustling bluebells comeP
Almost before the blackbird finds a mateK
And overstay the swallow and the humP
Of many murmuring bees flits through the leavesK
Have I lain poring on the dreamy tales his fancy weavesK
-
And through their unreal woes and mimic painF
Wept for myself and so was purifiedK
And in their simple mirth grew glad againF
For as I sailed upon that pictured tideK
The strength and splendour of the storm was mineF
Without the storm's red ruin for the singer is divineF
-
The little laugh of water falling downF
Is not so musical the clammy goldK
Close hoarded in the tiny waxen townF
Has less of sweetness in it and the oldK
Half withered reeds that waved in ArcadyK
Touched by his lips break forth again to fresher harmonyF
-
Spirit of Beauty tarry yet awhileD
Although the cheating merchants of the martK
With iron roads profane our lovely isleD
And break on whirling wheels the limbs of ArtK
Ay though the crowded factories begetK
The blindworm Ignorance that slays the soul O tarry yetK
-
For One at least there is He bears his nameR
From Dante and the seraph GabrielD
Whose double laurels burn with deathless flameR
To light thine altar He too loves thee wellD
Who saw old Merlin lured in Vivien's snareB
And the white feet of angels coming down the golden stairB
-
Loves thee so well that all the World for himQ
A gorgeous coloured vestiture must wearB
And Sorrow take a purple diademS
Or else be no more Sorrow and DespairB
Gild its own thorns and Pain like Adon beF
Even in anguish beautiful such is the emperyB
-
Which Painters hold and such the heritageT
This gentle solemn Spirit doth possessK
Being a better mirror of his ageU
In all his pity love and wearinessK
Than those who can but copy common thingsK
And leave the Soul unpainted with its mighty questioningsK
-
But they are few and all romance has flownF
And men can prophesy about the sunF
And lecture on his arrows how aloneF
Through a waste void the soulless atoms runF
How from each tree its weeping nymph has fledK
And that no more 'mid English reeds a Naiad shows her headK
-
Methinks these new Actaeons boast too soonF
That they have spied on beauty what if weF
Have analysed the rainbow robbed the moonF
Of her most ancient chastest mysteryF
Shall I the last Endymion lose all hopeV
Because rude eyes peer at my mistress through a telescopeV
-
What profit if this scientific ageU
Burst through our gates with all its retinueF
Of modern miracles Can it assuageU
One lover's breaking heart what can it doF
To make one life more beautiful one dayK
More godlike in its period but now the Age of ClayK
-
Returns in horrid cycle and the earthW
Hath borne again a noisy progenyF
Of ignorant Titans whose ungodly birthW
Hurls them against the august hierarchyF
Which sat upon Olympus to the DustK
They have appealed and to that barren arbiter they mustK
-
Repair for judgment let them if they canF
From Natural Warfare and insensate ChanceK
Create the new Ideal rule for manF
Methinks that was not my inheritanceK
For I was nurtured otherwise my soulD
Passes from higher heights of life to a more supreme goalD
-
Lo while we spake the earth did turn awayK
Her visage from the God and Hecate's boatK
Rose silver laden till the jealous dayK
Blew all its torches out I did not noteK
The waning hours to young EndymionsK
Time's palsied fingers count in vain his rosary of sunsK
-
Mark how the yellow iris wearilyF
Leans back its throat as though it would be kissedK
By its false chamberer the dragon flyD
Who like a blue vein on a girl's white wristK
Sleeps on that snowy primrose of the nightK
Which 'gins to flush with crimson shame and die beneath the lightK
-
Come let us go against the pallid shieldK
Of the wan sky the almond blossoms gleamX
The corncrake nested in the unmown fieldK
Answers its mate across the misty streamX
On fitful wing the startled curlews flyD
And in his sedgy bed the lark for joy that Day is nighD
-
Scatters the pearled dew from off the grassK
In tremulous ecstasy to greet the sunF
Who soon in gilded panoply will passK
Forth from yon orange curtained pavilionF
Hung in the burning east see the red rimQ
O'ertops the expectant hills it is the God for love of himQ
-
Already the shrill lark is out of sightK
Flooding with waves of song this silent dellD
Ah there is something more in that bird's flightK
Than could be tested in a crucibleD
But the air freshens let us go why soonF
The woodmen will be here how we have lived this night of JuneF

Oscar Wilde



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