The River Note Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCDEFGHIJKLFCMNCDOP QRSTSUVSSWXYRXSZA2B2 SC2D2S| And I behold once more | A |
| My old familiar haunts here the blue river | B |
| The same blue wonder that my infant eye | C |
| Admired sage doubting whence the traveller came | D |
| Whence brought his sunny bubbles ere he washed | E |
| The fragrant flag roots in my father's fields | F |
| And where thereafter in the world he went | G |
| Look here he is unaltered save that now | H |
| He hath broke his banks and flooded all the vales | I |
| With his redundant waves | J |
| Here is the rock where yet a simple child | K |
| I caught with bended pin my earliest fish | L |
| Much triumphing and these the fields | F |
| Over whose flowers I chased the butterfly | C |
| A blooming hunter of a fairy fine | M |
| And hark where overhead the ancient crows | N |
| Hold their sour conversation in the sky | C |
| These are the same but I am not the same | D |
| But wiser than I was and wise enough | O |
| Not to regret the changes tho' they cost | P |
| Me many a sigh Oh call not Nature dumb | Q |
| These trees and stones are audible to me | R |
| These idle flowers that tremble in the wind | S |
| I understand their faery syllables | T |
| And all their sad significance The wind | S |
| That rustles down the well known forest road | U |
| It hath a sound more eloquent than speech | V |
| The stream the trees the grass the sighing wind | S |
| All of them utter sounds of 'monishment | S |
| And grave parental love | W |
| They are not of our race they seem to say | X |
| And yet have knowledge of our moral race | Y |
| And somewhat of majestic sympathy | R |
| Something of pity for the puny clay | X |
| That holds and boasts the immeasurable mind | S |
| I feel as I were welcome to these trees | Z |
| After long months of weary wandering | A2 |
| Acknowledged by their hospitable boughs | B2 |
| They know me as their son for side by side | S |
| They were coeval with my ancestors | C2 |
| Adorned with them my country's primitive times | D2 |
| And soon may give my dust their funeral shade | S |
Ralph Waldo Emerson
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