Whitechapel High Road Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABCDDBACCBECFGFEGHG HCGCIGGGIGIGG JGKLJMGLMGDDGGIIGGG

Lusty life her river poursA
Along a road of shining shoresA
The moon of August beamsB
Mild as upon her harvest slopes but hereC
From man's full breath'd abounding earthD
Exiled she walks as one of alien birthD
The pale neglected foster mother of dreamsB
For windows with resplendent storesA
Along the pavement dazzle and outstareC
The booths that front them thereC
To the throng which loiters by in laughing streamsB
Babble the criers and 'mid eager soundsE
The flaming torches toss to the wind their hairC
And ruddy in trembling waves the lightF
Flushes cheeks of wondering boysG
Assembled their lips parted and eyes brightF
As the medicine seller his magic herb expoundsE
Or some old man displays his painted toysG
Deaf with a vacant stillness of the tombH
At intervals a road deserted gapesG
Where night shrinks back into her proper gloomH
Frighted by boisterous flareC
Of the flame that now through a cluster of green grapesG
Shines wanly or on striped apple and smooth pearC
Flits blushing now on rug or carpet spreadI
In view of the merry buyers the rude dyesG
Re crimsons or an antic shadow throwsG
Over the chestnut brazier's glowing eyesG
And now the sleeping headI
Of a gipsy child in his dim corner showsG
Huddled against a canvas wall his bedI
An ancient sack nor torch nor hundred criesG
Awake him from his sweet profound reposeG
-
But thou divine moon with thine equal beamJ
Dispensing patience stealest unawaresG
The thoughts of many that pass sorrowful onK
Else undiverted amid the crowd aloneL
Embroiderest with beauties the worn themeJ
Of trouble to a fancied harbour calmM
Steerest the widow's ship of heavy caresG
And on light spirits of lovers radiant grownL
Droppest an unimaginable balmM
Yet me to night thy peace rejoices lessG
Than this warm human scene that of rude earthD
Pleasantly savours nor dissembles mirthD
Nor grief nor passion sweet to me this pressG
Of life unnumbered where if hard distressG
Be tyrant hunger is not fedI
Nor misery pensioned with the ill tasting breadI
Of pity but such help as earth ordainsG
Betwixt her creatures bound in common painsG
One from another without prayer obtainsG

Robert Laurence Binyon



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About Whitechapel High Road

Whitechapel High Road is a poem by Robert Laurence Binyon. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.



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