Pacchiarotto - Epilogue Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCCCBAA DEFGGEDD GGHIIGGG JKLLLKJJ MNOOPNMM IQRRRQII GSRRRSRR RTRRRTRR RRUVVRRR RRRRRRRR WRRRRRWW WBRRRBWW XNRRRNXX RRRRRRRR YZRRRZYY RRQQQRRR A2RRRRRA2A2 B2AC2C2C2AB2B2 CRD2D2D2RCC RB2RRRRRR B2RVVVRB2B2 IRRRRRII RR RRR RB2RRE2B2RR F2RG2G2G2RF2F2 RRRRRRRR H2RXXXRH2H2 II2RRRI2II| The poets pour us wine | A |
| Said the dearest poet I ever knew | B |
| Dearest and greatest and best to me | C |
| You clamor athirst for poetry | C |
| We pour But when shall a vintage be | C |
| You cry strong grape squeezed gold from screw | B |
| Yet sweet juice flavored flowery fine | A |
| That were indeed the wine | A |
| - | |
| One pours your cup stark strength | D |
| Meat for a man and you eye the pulp | E |
| Strained turbid still from the viscous blood | F |
| Of the snaky bough and you grumble Good | G |
| For it swells resolve breeds hardihood | G |
| Dispatch it then in a single gulp | E |
| So down with a wry face goes at length | D |
| The liquor stuff for strength | D |
| - | |
| One pours your cup sheer sweet | G |
| The fragrant fumes of a year condensed | G |
| Suspicion of all that's ripe or rathe | H |
| From the bud on branch to the grass in swathe | I |
| We suck mere milk of the seasons saith | I |
| A curl of each nostril dew dispensed | G |
| Nowise for nerving man to feat | G |
| Boys sip such honeyed sweet | G |
| - | |
| And thus who wants wine strong | J |
| Waves each sweet smell of the year away | K |
| Who likes to swoon as the sweets suffuse | L |
| His brain with a mixture of beams and dews | L |
| Turned syrupy drink rough strength eschews | L |
| What though in our veins your wine stock stay | K |
| The lack of the bloom does our palate wrong | J |
| Give us wine sweet not strong | J |
| - | |
| Yet wine is some affirm | M |
| Prime wine is found in the world somewhere | N |
| Of portable strength with sweet to match | O |
| You double your heart its dose yet catch | O |
| As the draught descends a violet swatch | P |
| Softness however it came there | N |
| Through drops expressed by the fire and worm | M |
| Strong sweet wine some affirm | M |
| - | |
| Body and bouquet both | I |
| 'Tis easy to ticket a bottle so | Q |
| But what was the case in the cask my friends | R |
| Cask Nay the vat where the maker mends | R |
| His strong with his sweet you suppose and blends | R |
| His rough with his smooth till none can know | Q |
| How it comes you may tipple nothing loth | I |
| Body and bouquet both | I |
| - | |
| You being just the world | G |
| No poets who turn themselves the winch | S |
| Of the press no critics I'll even say | R |
| Being flustered and easy of faith to day | R |
| Who for love of the work have learned the way | R |
| Till themselves produce home made at a pinch | S |
| No You are the world and wine ne'er purled | R |
| Except to please the world | R |
| - | |
| For oh the common heart | R |
| And ah the irremissible sin | T |
| Of poets who please themselves not us | R |
| Strong wine yet sweet wine pouring thus | R |
| How please still Pindar and schylus | R |
| Drink dipt into by the bearded chin | T |
| Alike and the bloomy lip no part | R |
| Denied the common heart | R |
| - | |
| And might we get such grace | R |
| And did you moderns but stock our vault | R |
| With the true half brandy half attar gul | U |
| How would seniors indulge at a hearty pull | V |
| While juniors tossed off their thimbleful | V |
| Our Shakespeare and Milton escaped your fault | R |
| So they reign supreme o'er the weaker race | R |
| That wants the ancient grace | R |
| - | |
| If I paid myself with words | R |
| As the French say well I were dupe indeed | R |
| I were found in belief that you quaffed and bowsed | R |
| At your Shakespeare the whole day long caroused | R |
| In your Milton pottle deep nor drowsed | R |
| A moment of night toped on took heed | R |
| Of nothing like modern cream and curds | R |
| Pay me with deeds not words | R |
| - | |
| For see your cellarage | W |
| There are forty barrels with Shakespeare's brand | R |
| Some five or six are abroach the rest | R |
| Stand spigoted fauceted Try and test | R |
| What yourselves call best of the very best | R |
| How comes it that still untouched they stand | R |
| Why don't you try tap advance a stage | W |
| With the rest in cellarage | W |
| - | |
| For see your cellarage | W |
| There are four big butts of Milton's brew | B |
| How comes it you make old drips and drops | R |
| Do duty and there devotion stops | R |
| Leave such an abyss of malt and hops | R |
| Embellied in butts which bungs still glue | B |
| You hate your bard A fig for your rage | W |
| Free him from cellarage | W |
| - | |
| 'Tis said I brew stiff drink | X |
| But the deuce a flavor of grape is there | N |
| Hardly a May go down 'tis just | R |
| A sort of a gruff Go down it must | R |
| No Merry go down no gracious gust | R |
| Commingles the racy with Springtide's rare | N |
| What wonder say you that we cough and blink | X |
| At Autumn's heady drink | X |
| - | |
| Is it a fancy friends | R |
| Mighty and mellow are never mixed | R |
| Though mighty and mellow be born at once | R |
| Sweet for the future strong for the nonce | R |
| Stuff you should stow away ensconce | R |
| In the deep and dark to be found fast fixed | R |
| At the century's close such time strength spends | R |
| A sweetening for my friends | R |
| - | |
| And then why what you quaff | Y |
| With a smack of lip and a cluck of tongue | Z |
| Is leakage and leavings just what haps | R |
| From the tun some learned taster taps | R |
| With a promise Prepare your watery chaps | R |
| Here's properest wine for old and young | Z |
| Dispute its perfection you make us laugh | Y |
| Have faith give thanks but quaff | Y |
| - | |
| Leakage I say or worse | R |
| Leavings suffice pot valiant souls | R |
| Somebody brimful long ago | Q |
| Frothed flagon he drained to the dregs and lo | Q |
| Down whisker and beard what an overflow | Q |
| Lick spilth that has trickled from classic jowls | R |
| Sup the single scene sip the only verse | R |
| Old wine not new and worse | R |
| - | |
| I grant you worse by much | A2 |
| Renounce that new where you never gained | R |
| One glow at heart one gleam at head | R |
| And stick to the warrant of age instead | R |
| No dwarf's lap Fatten by giants fed | R |
| You fatten with oceans of drink undrained | R |
| You feed who would choke did a cobweb smutch | A2 |
| The Age you love so much | A2 |
| - | |
| A mine's beneath a moor | B2 |
| Acres of moor roof fathoms of mine | A |
| Which diamonds dot where you please to dig | C2 |
| Yet who plies spade for the bright and big | C2 |
| Your product is truffles you hunt with a pig | C2 |
| Since bright and big when a man would dine | A |
| Suits badly and therefore the Koh i noor | B2 |
| May sleep in mine 'neath moor | B2 |
| - | |
| Wine pulse in might from me | C |
| It may never emerge in must from vat | R |
| Never fill cask nor furnish can | D2 |
| Never end sweet which strong began | D2 |
| God's gift to gladden the heart of man | D2 |
| But spirit's at proof I promise that | R |
| No sparing of juice spoils what should be | C |
| Fit brewage mine for me | C |
| - | |
| Man's thoughts and loves and hates | R |
| Earth is my vineyard these grew there | B2 |
| From grape of the ground I made or marred | R |
| My vintage easy the task or hard | R |
| Who set it his praise be my reward | R |
| Earth's yield Who yearn for the Dark Blue Sea's | R |
| Let them lay pray bray the addle pates | R |
| Mine be Man's thoughts loves hates | R |
| - | |
| But some one says Good Sir | B2 |
| 'Tis a worthy versed in what concerns | R |
| The making such labor turn out well | V |
| You don't suppose that the nosegay smell | V |
| Needs always come from the grape Each bell | V |
| At your foot each bud that your culture spurns | R |
| The very cowslip would act like myrrh | B2 |
| On the stiffest brew good Sir | B2 |
| - | |
| Cowslips abundant birth | I |
| O'er meadow and hillside vineyard too | R |
| Like a schoolboy's scrawlings in and out | R |
| Distasteful lesson book all about | R |
| Greece and Rome victory and rout | R |
| Love verses instead of such vain ado | R |
| So fancies frolic it o'er the earth | I |
| Where thoughts have rightlier birth | I |
| - | |
| Nay thoughtlings they themselves | R |
| Loves hates in little and less and least | R |
| Thoughts 'What is a man beside a mount ' | - |
| Loves 'Absent poor lovers the minutes count ' | - |
| Hates 'Fie Pope's letters to Martha Blount ' | - |
| These furnish a wine for a children's feast | R |
| Insipid to man they suit the elves | R |
| Like thoughts loves hates themselves | R |
| - | |
| And friends beyond dispute | R |
| I too have the cowslips dewy and dear | B2 |
| Punctual as Springtide forth peep they | R |
| I leave them to make my meadow gay | R |
| But I ought to pluck and impound them eh | E2 |
| Not let them alone but deftly shear | B2 |
| And shred and reduce to what may suit | R |
| Children beyond dispute | R |
| - | |
| And here's May month all bloom | F2 |
| All bounty what if I sacrifice | R |
| If I out with shears and shear nor stop | G2 |
| Shearing till prostrate lo the crop | G2 |
| And will you prefer it to ginger pop | G2 |
| When I've made you wine of the memories | R |
| Which leave as bare as a churchyard tomb | F2 |
| My meadow late all bloom | F2 |
| - | |
| Nay what ingratitude | R |
| Should I hesitate to amuse the wits | R |
| That have pulled so long at my flask nor grudged | R |
| The headache that paid their pains nor budged | R |
| From bunghole before they sighed and judged | R |
| Too rough for our taste to day befits | R |
| The racy and right when the years conclude | R |
| Out on ingratitude | R |
| - | |
| Grateful or ingrate none | H2 |
| No cowslip of all my fairy crew | R |
| Shall help to concoct what makes you wink | X |
| And goes to your head till you think you think | X |
| I like them alive the printer's ink | X |
| Would sensibly tell on the perfume too | R |
| I may use up my nettles ere I've done | H2 |
| But of cowslips friends get none | H2 |
| - | |
| Don't nettles make a broth | I |
| Wholesome for blood grown lazy and thick | I2 |
| Maws out of sorts make mouths out of taste | R |
| My Thirty four Port no need to waste | R |
| On a tongue that's fur and a palate paste | R |
| A magnum for friends who are sound the sick | I2 |
| I'll posset and cosset them nothing loth | I |
| Henceforward with nettle broth | I |
Robert Browning
(1)
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