A Tale Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BCBCDD EFEFGG BHBIJJ KLKLMM BNBNO KPKPPP PQPQIH IEIEPP EPEPPP RPRPS IKIKPP EPEPB QOQOPP KGKGOO PPPPPP PPPPTU PVPWX IYIYZZ| Epilogue to 'The Two Poets of Croisic ' | A |
| - | |
| What a pretty tale you told me | B |
| Once upon a time | C |
| Said you found it somewhere scold me | B |
| Was it prose or was it rhyme | C |
| Greek or Latin Greek you said | D |
| While your shoulder propped my head | D |
| - | |
| Anyhow there's no forgetting | E |
| This much if no more | F |
| That a poet pray no petting | E |
| Yes a bard sir famed of yore | F |
| Went where suchlike used to go | G |
| Singing for a prize you know | G |
| - | |
| Well he had to sing nor merely | B |
| Sing but play the lyre | H |
| Playing was important clearly | B |
| Quite as singing I desire | I |
| Sir you keep the fact in mind | J |
| For a purpose that's behind | J |
| - | |
| There stood he while deep attention | K |
| Held the judges round | L |
| Judges able I should mention | K |
| To detect the slightest sound | L |
| Sung or played amiss such ears | M |
| Had old judges it appears | M |
| - | |
| None the less he sang out boldly | B |
| Played in time and tune | N |
| Till the judges weighing coldly | B |
| Each note's worth seemed late or soon | N |
| Sure to smile 'In vain one tries | O |
| Picking faults out take the prize ' | - |
| - | |
| When a mischief Were they seven | K |
| Strings the lyre possessed | P |
| Oh and afterwards eleven | K |
| Thank you Well sir who had guessed | P |
| Such ill luck in store it happed | P |
| One of those same seven strings snapped | P |
| - | |
| All was lost then No a cricket | P |
| What 'cicada' Pooh | Q |
| Some mad thing that left its thicket | P |
| For mere love of music flew | Q |
| With its little heart on fire | I |
| Lighted on the crippled lyre | H |
| - | |
| So that when Ah joy our singer | I |
| For his truant string | E |
| Feels with disconcerted finger | I |
| What does cricket else but fling | E |
| Fiery heart forth sound the note | P |
| Wanted by the throbbing throat | P |
| - | |
| Ay and ever to the ending | E |
| Cricket chirps at need | P |
| Executes the hand's intending | E |
| Promptly perfectly indeed | P |
| Saves the singer from defeat | P |
| With her chirrup low and sweet | P |
| - | |
| Till at ending all the judges | R |
| Cry with one assent | P |
| 'Take the prize a prize who grudges | R |
| Such a voice and instrument | P |
| Why we took your lyre for harp | S |
| So it shrilled us forth F sharp ' | - |
| - | |
| Did the conqueror spurn the creature | I |
| Once its service done | K |
| That's no such uncommon feature | I |
| In the case when Music's son | K |
| Finds his Lotte's power too spent | P |
| For aiding soul development | P |
| - | |
| No This other on returning | E |
| Homeward prize in hand | P |
| Satisfied his bosom's yearning | E |
| Sir I hope you understand | P |
| Said 'Some record there must be | B |
| Of this cricket's help to me ' | - |
| - | |
| So he made himself a statue | Q |
| Marble stood life size | O |
| On the lyre he pointed at you | Q |
| Perched his partner in the prize | O |
| Never more apart you found | P |
| Her he throned from him she crowned | P |
| - | |
| That's the tale its application | K |
| Somebody I know | G |
| Hopes one day for reputation | K |
| Thro' his poetry that's Oh | G |
| All so learned and so wise | O |
| And deserving of a prize | O |
| - | |
| If he gains one will some ticket | P |
| When his statue's built | P |
| Tell the gazer ''Twas a cricket | P |
| Helped my crippled lyre whose lilt | P |
| Sweet and low when strength usurped | P |
| Softness' place i' the scale she chirped | P |
| - | |
| 'For as victory was nighest | P |
| While I sang and played | P |
| With my lyre at lowest highest | P |
| Right alike one string that made | P |
| 'Love' sound soft was snapt in twain | T |
| Never to be heard again | U |
| - | |
| 'Had not a kind cricket fluttered | P |
| Perched upon the place | V |
| Vacant left and duly uttered | P |
| 'Love Love Love ' whene'er the bass | W |
| Asked the treble to atone | X |
| For its somewhat sombre drone ' | - |
| - | |
| But you don't know music Wherefore | I |
| Keep on casting pearls | Y |
| To a poet All I care for | I |
| Is to tell him that a girl's | Y |
| 'Love' comes aptly in when gruff | Z |
| Grows his singing There enough | Z |
Robert Browning
(1)
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About A Tale
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