The Problem Poem Rhyme Scheme

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I like a church I like a cowl	A
I love a prophet of the soul	B
	-
And on my heart monastic aisles	C
Fall like sweet strains or pensive smiles	C
Yet not for all his faith can see	D
Would I that cowled churchman be	D
Why should the vest on him allure	E
Which I could not on me endure	E
	-
Not from a vain or shallow thought	F
His awful Jove young Phidias brought	F
Never from lips of cunning fell	G
The thrilling Delphic oracle	H
Out from the heart of nature rolled	I
The burdens of the Bible old	I
The litanies of nations came	J
Like the volcano's tongue of flame	J
Up from the burning core below	K
The canticles of love and woe	K
The hand that rounded Peter's dome	L
And groined the aisles of Christian Rome	L
Wrought in a sad sincerity	D
Himself from God he could not free	D
He builded better than he knew	M
The conscious stone to beauty grew	M
	-
Know'st thou what wove yon woodbird's nest	N
Of leaves and feathers from her breast	N
Or how the fish outbuilt its shell	G
Painting with morn each annual cell	G
Or how the sacred pine tree adds	O
To her old leaves new myriads	O
Such and so grew these holy piles	O
Whilst love and terror laid the tiles	O
Earth proudly wears the Parthenon	P
As the best gem upon her zone	Q
And Morning opes with haste her lids	O
To gaze upon the Pyramids	O
O'er England's abbeys bends the sky	R
As on its friends with kindred eye	R
For out of Thought's interior sphere	S
These wonders rose to upper air	T
And nature gladly gave them place	O
Adopted them into her race	O
And granted them an equal date	U
With Andes and with Ararat	V
	-
These temples grew as grows the grass	O
Art might obey but not surpass	O
The passive Master lent his hand	W
To the vast soul that o'er him planned	W
And the same power that reared the shrine	X
Bestrode the tribes that knelt within	Y
Even the fiery Pentecost	Z
Girds with one flame the Countless host	A2
Trances the heart through chanting quires	O
And through the priest the mind inspires	O
	-
The word unto the prophet spoken	B2
Was writ on tables yet unbroken	B2
The word by seers or sibyls told	I
In groves of oak or fanes of gold	I
Still floats upon the morning wind	C2
Still whispers to the willing mind	C2
One accent of the Holy Ghost	A2
The heedless world hath never lost	Z
	-
I know what say the Fathers wise	O
The Book itself before me lies	O
Old Chrysostom best Augustine	D2
And he who blent both in his line	X
The younger Golden lips or mines	O
Taylor the Shakspeare of divines	O
His words are music in my ear	E2
I see his cowled portrait dear	S
And yet for all his faith could see	O
I would not the good bishop be	O

Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Problem Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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