Wrestling Match Poem Rhyme Scheme

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What guts he had the Dago lad	A
Who fought that Frenchman grim with guile	B
For nigh an hour they milled like mad	A
And mauled the mat in rare old style	B
Then up and launched like catapults	C
And tangled twisted clinched and clung	D
Then tossed in savage somersaults	E
And hacked and hammered ducked and swung	D
And groaned and grunted sighed and cried	F
Now knotted tight now springing free	G
To bend each other's bones they tried	F
Their faces crisped in agony	G
	-
Then as a rage rose with tiger bound	H
They clashed and smashed and flailed and flung	D
And tripped and slipped with hammer pound	H
And streamin sweat and straining lung	D
The mighty mob roared out their joy	I
And wild I heard a wench near by	J
Shriek to the Frenchman Atta Boy	I
Go to it Jo jo kill the guy	J
	-
The boy from Rome was straight and slim	K
And swift and springy as a bow	L
The man from Metz was gaunt and grim	K
But all the tricks he seemed to know	M
'Twixt knee and calf with scissors lock	N
He gripped the lad's arm like a vice	O
The prisoned hand went white as chalk	N
And limp as death and cold as ice	O
And then he tried to break the wrist	P
And kidney pounded with his knee	G
But with a cry and lightning twist	P
The Roman youth had wrested free	G
	-
Then like mad bulls they hooked and mauled	Q
And blindly butted bone on bone	R
Spread eagled on the mat they sprawled	Q
And writhed and rocked with bitter moan	R
Then faltered to their feet and hung	D
Upon the ropes with eyes of woe	M
And then the Frenchman stooped and flung	D
The wop among the mob below	M
Who helped to hoist him back again	S
With cheers and jeers and course cat calls	T
To where the Gaul with might and main	U
Hung poised to kick his genitals	V
And drop him senseless in the ring	W
And then an old man cried My son	X
The maddened mob began to fling	W
Their chairs about the fight was done	X
	-
Soft silver sandals tapped the sea	G
Palms listened to the lack of sound	H
The lucioles were lilting free	G
The peace was precious and profound	H
Oh had it been an evil dream	Y
A chapel of the Saints I sought	Z
And thee before the alter gleam	Y
I clasped my hands and thought and thought	Z

Robert Service

Wrestling Match Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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