Stamp Collector Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABAAAA CDCDEE FGFGHH IJIJKK LMLMMM NONOAA APAPHH CACAQRQRMy worldly wealth I hoard in albums three | A |
My life collection of rare postage stamps | B |
My room is cold and bare as you can see | A |
My coat is old and shabby as a tramp's | A |
Yet more to me than balances in banks | A |
My albums three are worth a million francs | A |
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I keep them in that box beside my bed | C |
For who would dream such treasures it could hold | D |
But every day I take them out and spread | C |
Each page to gloat like miser o'er his gold | D |
Dearer to me than could be child or wife | E |
I would defend them with my very life | E |
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They are my very life for every night | F |
over my catalogues I pore and pore | G |
I recognize rare items with delight | F |
Nothing I read but philatelic lore | G |
And when some specimen of choice I buy | H |
In all the world there's none more glad than I | H |
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Behold my gem my British penny black | I |
To pay its price I starved myself a year | J |
And many a night my dinner I would lack | I |
But when I bought it oh what radiant cheer | J |
Hitler made war that day I did not care | K |
So long as my collection he would spare | K |
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Look my triangular Cape of Good Hope | L |
To purchase it I had to sell my car | M |
Now in my pocket for some sous I grope | L |
To pay my omnibus when home is far | M |
And I am cold and hungry and footsore | M |
In haste to add some beauty to my store | M |
- | |
This very day ah what a joy was mine | N |
When in a dingy dealer's shop I found | O |
This franc vermillion eighteen forty nine | N |
How painfully my heart began to pound | O |
It's weak they say I paid the modest price | A |
And tremblingly I vanished in a trice | A |
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But oh my dream is that some day of days | A |
I might discover a Mauritius blue | P |
poking among the stamp bins of the quais | A |
Who knows They say there are but two | P |
Yet if a third one I should spy | H |
I think God help me I should faint and die | H |
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Poor Monsieur Pns he's cold and dead | C |
One of those stamp collecting cranks | A |
His garret held no crust of bread | C |
But albums worth a million francs | A |
on them his income he would spend | Q |
By philatelic frenzy driven | R |
What did it profit in the end | Q |
You can't take stamps to Heaven | R |
Robert William Service
(1)
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