Robert Louis Stevenson - An Elegy Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCCDBD EFGFHIHIHI JBJBEKKLEMNMEOPOEPE QRQRHNSTESEEEUVSVBBS WSWUXSSX BBBBBBBBYYZZWWA2EEA2 B2SQVBBBBBSSSS B2B2C2C2SS D2A2XXA2D2SSVVSSBBBB BB SIS SB2SB2SSBBS E2XCCX

High on his Patmos of the Southern SeasA
Our northern dreamer sleepsB
Strange stars above him and above his graveC
Strange leaves and wings their tropic splendours waveC
While far beneath mile after shimmering mileD
The great Pacific with its faery deepsB
Smiles all day long its silken secret smileD
-
Son of a race nomadic finding stillE
Its home in regions furthest from its homeF
Ranging untired the borders of the worldG
And resting but to roamF
Loved of his land and making all his boastH
The birthright of the blood from which he cameI
Heir to those lights that guard the Scottish coastH
And caring only for a filial fameI
Proud if a poet he was Scotsman mostH
And bore a Scottish nameI
-
Death that long sought our poet finds at lastJ
Death that pursued him over land and seaB
Not his the flight of fear the heart aghastJ
With stony dread of immortalityB
He fled 'not cowardly'E
Fled as some captain in whose shaping handK
Lie the momentous fortunes of his landK
Sheds not vainglorious blood upon the fieldL
Death why at last he finds his treasure isleE
And he the pirate of its hidden hoardM
Life 'twas the ship he sailed to seek it inN
And Death is but the pilot come aboardM
Methinks I see him smile a boy's glad smileE
On maddened winds and waters reefs unknownO
As thunders in the sail the dread typhoonP
And in the surf the shuddering timbers groanO
Horror ahead and Death beside the wheelE
Then spreading stillness of the broad lagoonP
And lap of waters round the resting keelE
-
Strange Isle of Voices must we ask in vainQ
In vain beseech and win no answering wordR
Save mocking echoes of our lonely painQ
From lonely hill and birdR
Island beneath whose unrelenting coastH
As though it never in the sun had beenN
The whole world's treasure lieth sunk and lostS
Unsunned unseenT
For either sunk beyond the diver's skillE
There fathoms deep our gold is all arustS
Or in that island it is hoarded stillE
Yea some have said within thy dreadful wallE
There is a folk that know not death at allE
The loved we lost the lost we love are thereU
Will no kind voice make answer to our cryV
Give to our aching hearts some little trustS
Show how 'tis good to live but best to dieV
Some voice that knowsB
Whither the dead man goesB
We hear his music from the other sideS
Maybe a little tapping on the doorW
A something called a something sighedS
No moreW
O for some voice to valiantly declareU
The best news trueX
Then Happy Island of the Happy DeadS
How gladly would we spreadS
Impatient sail for youX
-
O vanished loveliness of flowers and facesB
Treasure of hair and great immortal eyesB
Are there for these no safe and secret placesB
And is it true that beauty never diesB
Soldiers and saints haughty and lovely namesB
Women who set the whole wide world in flamesB
Poets who sang their passion to the skiesB
And lovers wild and wiseB
Fought they and prayed for some poor flitting gleamY
Was all they loved and worshipped but a dreamY
Is Love a lie and fame indeed a breathZ
And is there no sure thing in life but deathZ
Or may it be within that guarded shoreW
He meets Her now whom I shall meet no moreW
Till kind Death fold me 'neath his shadowy wingA2
She whom within my heart I softly tellE
That he is dead whom once we loved so wellE
He the immortal master whom I singA2
-
Immortal yea dare we the word againB2
If aught remaineth of our mortal dayS
That which is written shall it not remainQ
That which is sung is it not built for ayeV
Faces must fade for all their golden looksB
Unless some poet them eternaliseB
Make live those golden looks in golden booksB
Death soon or late will quench the brightest eyesB
'Tis only what is written never diesB
Yea memories that guard like sacred goldS
Some sainted face they also must grow oldS
Pass and forget and think or darest thou notS
On all the beauty that is quite forgotS
-
Strange craft of words strange magic of the penB2
Whereby the dead still talk with living menB2
Whereby a sentence in its trivial scopeC2
May centre all we love and all we hopeC2
And in a couplet like a rosebud furledS
Lie all the wistful wonder of the worldS
-
Old are the stars and yet they still endureD2
Old are the flowers yet never fail the springA2
Why is the song that is so old so newX
Known and yet strange each sweet small shape and hueX
How may a poet thus for ever singA2
Thus build his climbing music sweet and sureD2
As builds in stars and flowers the Eternal mindS
Ah Poet that is yours to seek and findS
Yea yours that magisterial skill wherebyV
God put all Heaven in a woman's eyeV
Nature's own mighty and mysterious artS
That knows to pack the whole within the partS
The shell that hums the music of the seaB
The little word big with EternityB
The cosmic rhythm in microcosmic thingsB
One song the lark and one the planet singsB
One kind heart beating warm in bird and treeB
To hear it beat who knew so well as heB
-
Virgil of prose far distant is the dayS
When at the mention of your heartfelt nameI
Shall shake the head and men oblivious sayS
'We know him not this master nor his fame '-
Not for so swift forgetfulness you wroughtS
Day upon day with rapt fastidious penB2
Turning like precious stones with anxious thoughtS
This word and that again and yet againB2
Seeking to match its meaning with the worldS
Nor to the morning stars gave ears attentS
That you indeed might ever dare to beB
With other praise than immortalityB
Unworthily contentS
-
Not while a boy still whistles on the earthE2
Not while a single human heart beats trueX
Not while Love lasts and Honour and the BraveC
Has earth a graveC
O well beloved for youX

Richard Le Gallienne



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