Grass From The Battle-field Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCBD CADCEEFFFGGHIJKHIJKL FLLFMNMLLMNOLPLFLQQL RLSRLTLLLTTUU RVWFXLLVYZZYMTTMOOO FLFLA2QQA2LODO LLLLLB2B2LZC2LLC2LD2 C2C2C2D2C2D2LLE2F2G2 C2D2C2LLD2D2LC2LL LHC2HLC2C2 H2I2I2MC2I2MI2C2 LLLLLLLLLDDYY YFFLL LJ2I2I2J2L K2LK2L2L2L I2I2DDLC2I2LC2LLLC2F M2I2I2LFM2LI2FN2LLN2 O2O2N2O2LLMI2I2MFFLL LI2| Small sheaf | A |
| Of withered grass that hast not yet revealed | B |
| Thy story lo I see thee once more green | C |
| And growing on the battle field | B |
| On that last day that ever thou didst grow | D |
| - | |
| - | |
| I look down thro' thy blades and see between | C |
| A little lifted clover leaf | A |
| Stand like a cresset and I know | D |
| If this were morn there should be seen | C |
| In its chalice such a gem | E |
| As decks no mortal diadem | E |
| Poised with a lapidary skill | F |
| Which merely living doth fulfil | F |
| And pass the exquisite strain of subtlest human will | F |
| But in the sun it lifteth up | G |
| A dry unjewelled cup | G |
| Therefore I see that day doth not begin | H |
| And yet I know its beaming lord | I |
| Hath not yet passed the hill of noon | J |
| Or thy lush blades | K |
| Would be more dry and thin | H |
| And every blade a thirsty sword | I |
| Edged with the sharp desire that soon | J |
| Should draw the silver blood of all the shades | K |
| I feel 't is summer This whereon I stand | L |
| Is not a hill nor as I think a vale | F |
| The soil is soft upon the generous land | L |
| Yet not as where the meeting streams take hand | L |
| Under the mossy mantle of the dale | F |
| Such grass is for the meadow If I try | M |
| To lift my heavy eyelids as in dreams | N |
| A power is on them and I know not why | M |
| Thou art but part the whole is unconfest | L |
| Beholding thee I long to know the rest | L |
| As one expands the bosom with a sigh | M |
| I stretch my sight's horizon but it seems | N |
| Ere it can widen round the mystery | O |
| To close in swift contraction like the breast | L |
| The air is held as by a charm | P |
| In an enforc d silence as like sound | L |
| As the dead man the living 'T is so still | F |
| I listen for it loud | L |
| And when I force my eyes from thy sole place | Q |
| And see a wider space | Q |
| Above around | L |
| In ragged glory like a torn | R |
| And golden natured cloud | L |
| O'er the dim field a living smoke is warm | S |
| As in a city on a sabbath morn | R |
| The hot and summer sunshine goes abroad | L |
| Swathed in the murky air | T |
| As if a god | L |
| Enrobed himself in common flesh and blood | L |
| Our heavy flesh and blood | L |
| And here and there | T |
| As unaware | T |
| Thro' the dull lagging limbs of mortal make | U |
| That keep unequal time the swifter essence brake | U |
| - | |
| - | |
| But hark a bugle horn | R |
| And ere it ceases such a shock | V |
| As if the plain were iron and thereon | W |
| An iron hammer heavy as a hill | F |
| Swung by a monstrous force in stroke came down | X |
| And deafened Heaven I feel a swound | L |
| Of every sense bestunned | L |
| The rent ground seems to rock | V |
| And all the definite vision in such wise | Y |
| As a dead giant borne on a swift river | Z |
| Seems sliding off for ever | Z |
| When my reviving eyes | Y |
| As one that holds a spirit by his eye | M |
| With set inexorable stare | T |
| Fix thee and so I catch as by the hair | T |
| The form of that great dream that else had drifted by | M |
| I know not what that form may be | O |
| The lock I hold is all I see | O |
| And thou small sheaf art all the battle field to me | O |
| - | |
| - | |
| The wounded silence hath not time to heal | F |
| When see upon thy sod | L |
| The round stroke of a charger's heel | F |
| With echoing thunder shod | L |
| As the night lightning shows | A2 |
| A mole upon a momentary face | Q |
| So as that gnarled hoof strikes the indented place | Q |
| I see it and it goes | A2 |
| And I hear the squadrons trot thro' the heavy shell and shot | L |
| And wheugh but the grass is gory | O |
| Forward ho blow to blow at the foe in they go | D |
| And 'tis hieover heigho for glory | O |
| - | |
| - | |
| The rushing storm is past | L |
| But hark upon its track the far drums beat | L |
| And all the earth that at thy roots thou hast | L |
| Stirs shakes shocks sounds with quick strong tramp of feet | L |
| In time unlike the last | L |
| Footing to tap of drum | B2 |
| The charging columns come | B2 |
| And as they come their mighty martial sound | L |
| Blows on before them as a flaming fire | Z |
| Blows in the wind for as old Mars in ire | C2 |
| Strode o'er the world encompassed in a cloud | L |
| So the swift legion o'er the quaking ground | L |
| Strode in a noise of battle Nigh and nigher | C2 |
| I heard it like the long swell gathering loud | L |
| What time a land wind blowing from the main | D2 |
| Blows to the burst of fury and is o'er | C2 |
| As if an ocean on one fatal shore | C2 |
| Fell in a moment whole and threw its roar | C2 |
| Whole to the further sea and as the strain | D2 |
| Of my strong sense cracked in the deafened ear | C2 |
| And all the rushing tumult of the plain | D2 |
| Topped its great arch above me a swift foot | L |
| Was struck between thy blades to the struck root | L |
| And lifted as into a sheath | E2 |
| A sudden sword is thrust and drawn again | F2 |
| Ere one can gasp a breath | G2 |
| I was so near | C2 |
| I saw the wrinkles of the leather grain | D2 |
| The very cobbler's stitches and the wear | C2 |
| By which I knew the wearer trod not straight | L |
| An honest shoe it seemed that had been good | L |
| To mete the miles of any country lane | D2 |
| Nor did one sign explain | D2 |
| 'T was made to wade thro' blood | L |
| My shoe soft footstooled on this hearth so far | C2 |
| From strife hath such a patch and as he past | L |
| His broken shoelace whipt his eager haste | L |
| - | |
| - | |
| An honest shoe good faith that might have stood | L |
| Upon the threshold of a village inn | H |
| And welcomed all the world or by the byre | C2 |
| And barn gone peaceful till the day closed in | H |
| And scraped at eve upon some homely gate | L |
| Ah Heaven might sit beside a cottage fire | C2 |
| And touch the lazy log to softer flames than war | C2 |
| - | |
| - | |
| Long long thou wert alone | H2 |
| I thought thy days were done | I2 |
| Flat as ignoble grass that lies out mown | I2 |
| By peaceful hands in June I saw thee lie | M |
| A worm crawled o'er thee and the gossamer | C2 |
| That telegraphs Queen Mab to Oberon | I2 |
| Lengthening his living message passed thee by | M |
| But rain fell and thy strawed blades one by one | I2 |
| Began to stir and stir | C2 |
| - | |
| - | |
| And as some moorland bird | L |
| Whom the still hunter's stalking steps have stirred | L |
| When he stands mute and nothing more is heard | L |
| With slow succession and reluctant art | L |
| Grows upward from her bed | L |
| Each move a muffled start | L |
| And thro' the silent autumn covert red | L |
| Uplifts a throbbing head | L |
| That times the ambushed hunter's thudding heart | L |
| Or as a snow drop bending low | D |
| Beneath a flake of other snow | D |
| Thaws to its height when spring winds melt the skies | Y |
| And drip by drip doth mete a measured rise | Y |
| - | |
| - | |
| Or as the eyelids of a child's fair eyes | Y |
| Lift from her lower lashes slow and pale | F |
| To arch the wonder of a fairy tale | F |
| So thro' the western light | L |
| I saw thee slowly rearing to thy height | L |
| - | |
| - | |
| Then when thou hadst regained thy state | L |
| And while a meadow spider with three lines | J2 |
| Enschemed thy three tall pillars green | I2 |
| And made the enchanted air between | I2 |
| Mortal with shining signs | J2 |
| For the loud carrion flies were many and late | L |
| - | |
| - | |
| Betwixt thy blades and stems | K2 |
| There fell a hand | L |
| Soft small and white and ringed with gold and gems | K2 |
| And on those stones of price | L2 |
| I saw a proud device | L2 |
| And words I could not understand | L |
| - | |
| - | |
| Idly one by one | I2 |
| The knots of anguish came undone | I2 |
| The fingers stretched as from a cramp of woe | D |
| And sweet and slow | D |
| Moved to gracious shapes of rest | L |
| Like a curl of soft pale hair | C2 |
| Drying in the sun | I2 |
| And then they spread | L |
| And sought a wonted greeting in the air | C2 |
| And strayed | L |
| Between thy blades and with each blade | L |
| As with meeting fingers played | L |
| And tresses long and fair | C2 |
| Then again at placid length it lay | F |
| Stretched as to kisses of accustomed lips | M2 |
| And again in sudden strain | I2 |
| Sprang falling clenched with pain | I2 |
| Till the knuckles white | L |
| Thro' the evening gray | F |
| Whitened and whitened as the snowy tips | M2 |
| Of far hills glimmer thro' the night | L |
| But who shall tell that agony | I2 |
| That beat thee beat thee into bloody clay | F |
| Red as the sards and rubies of the rings | N2 |
| As when a bird fast by the fowler's net | L |
| A moment doth forget | L |
| His fetters and with desperate wings | N2 |
| A sudden springs and falls | O2 |
| And while from happy clouds the skylark calls | O2 |
| Still feebler springs | N2 |
| And fainter falls | O2 |
| And still untamed upon the gory ground | L |
| With failing strength renews his deadly wound | L |
| At length the struggle ceased and my fixed eye | M |
| Perceived that every finger wan | I2 |
| Did quiver like the quivering fan | I2 |
| Of a dying butterfly | M |
| Nor long I watched until | F |
| Even the humming in the air was still | F |
| Then I gazed and gazed | L |
| Nor once my aching eyeballs raised | L |
| Till a poor bird that had a meadow nest | L |
| Came down | I2 |
Sydney Thompson Dobell
(1)
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About Grass From The Battle-field
Grass From The Battle-field is a poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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