A Ballad Of Nursery Rhyme Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABAB CDCD EFEG HIHI JKLK MNMN OPOP QRQR STST FUFU VRVR WXWX WYWY WZWZ WWWW WA2WA2

Strawberries that in gardens growA
Are plump and juicy fineB
But sweeter far as wise men knowA
Spring from the woodland vineB
-
No need for bowl or silver spoonC
Sugar or spice or creamD
Has the wild berry plucked in JuneC
Beside the trickling streamD
-
One such to melt at the tongue's rootE
Confounding taste with scentF
Beats a full peck of garden fruitE
Which points my argumentG
-
May sudden justice overtakeH
And snap the froward penI
That old and palsied poets shakeH
Against the minds of menI
-
Blasphemers trusting to hold caughtJ
In far flung webs of inkK
The utmost ends of human thoughtL
Till nothing's left to thinkK
-
But may the gift of heavenly peaceM
And glory for all timeN
Keep the boy Tom who tending geeseM
First made the nursery rhymeN
-
By the brookside one August dayO
Using the sun for clockP
Tom whiled the languid hours awayO
Beside his scattering flockP
-
Carving with a sharp pointed stoneQ
On a broad slab of slateR
The famous lives of Jumping JoanQ
Dan Fox and Greedy KateR
-
Rhyming of wolves and bears and birdsS
Spain Scotland BabylonT
That sister Kate might learn the wordsS
To tell to Toddling JohnT
-
But Kate who could not stay contentF
To learn her lesson patU
New beauty to the rough lines lentF
By changing this or thatU
-
And she herself set fresh things downV
In corners of her slateR
Of lambs and lanes and London TownV
God's blessing fall on KateR
-
The baby loved the simple soundW
With jolly glee he shookX
And soon the lines grew smooth and roundW
Like pebbles in Tom's brookX
-
From mouth to mouth told and retoldW
By children sprawled at easeY
Before the fire in winter's coldW
In June beneath tall treesY
-
Till though long lost are stone and slateW
Though the brook no more runsZ
And dead long time are Tom John KateW
Their sons and their sons' sonsZ
-
Yet as when Time with stealthy treadW
Lays the rich garden wasteW
The woodland berry ripe and redW
Fails not in scent or tasteW
-
So these same rhymes shall still be toldW
To children yet unbornA2
While false philosophy growing oldW
Fades and is killed by scornA2

Robert Graves



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