Lady Constance Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABACBC DDEEEEE EE FF EEE EEGGGGGG EEE DD HH GGIIGDDG GGJKJKGLGLMGMGJMGJGG GEEGGEGGGGGJNNOOEEEE PPQQQ| My Love my Lord | A |
| I think the toil of glorious day is done | B |
| I see thee leaning on thy jewelled sword | A |
| And a light hearted child of France | C |
| Is dancing to thee in the sun | B |
| And thus he carols in his dance | C |
| - | |
| - | |
| 'Oh a gallant sans peur | D |
| Is the merry chasseur | D |
| With his fanfaron horn and his rifle ping pang | E |
| And his grand havresack | E |
| Of gold on his back | E |
| His pistol cric crac | E |
| And his sword cling clang | E |
| - | |
| - | |
| Oh to see him blithe and gay | E |
| From some hot and bloody day | E |
| Come to dance the night away till the bugle blows 'au rang ' | - |
| With a wheel and a whirl | F |
| And a wheeling waltzing girl | F |
| And his bow 'place aux dames ' and his oath 'feu et sang ' | - |
| And his hop and his fling | E |
| Till his gold and silver ring | E |
| To the clatter and the clash of his sword cling clang | E |
| - | |
| - | |
| But hark | E |
| Thro' the dark | E |
| Up goes the well known shout | G |
| The drums beat the turn out | G |
| Cut short your coarting Monsieur l' Amant | G |
| Saddle mount march trot | G |
| Down comes the storm of shot | G |
| The foe is at the charge En avant | G |
| - | |
| - | |
| His jolly havresack | E |
| Of gold is on his back | E |
| Hear his pistol cric crac hear his rifle ping pang | E |
| - | |
| - | |
| Vive l' Empereur | D |
| And where's the Chasseur | D |
| - | |
| - | |
| He's in | H |
| Among the din | H |
| Steel to steel cling clang ' | - |
| - | |
| - | |
| And thou within the doorway of thy tent | G |
| Leanest at ease with careless brow unbent | G |
| Watching the dancer in as pleased a dream | I |
| As if he were a gnat i' the evening gleam | I |
| And thou and I were sitting side by side | G |
| Within the happy bower | D |
| Where oft at this same hour | D |
| We watched them the sweet year I was a bride | G |
| - | |
| - | |
| My Love my Lord | G |
| Leaning so grandly on thy jewelled sword | G |
| Is there no thought of home to whisper thee | J |
| None can relieve the weary guard I keep | K |
| None wave the flag of breathing truce for me | J |
| Nor sound the hours to slumber or to weep | K |
| Once in a moon the bugle breaks thy rest | G |
| I count my days by trumpets and alarms | L |
| Thou liest down in thy warcloak and art blest | G |
| While I who cannot sleep but in thine arms | L |
| Wage night and day fresh fields unknown to fame | M |
| Arm marshal march charge fight fall faint and die | G |
| Know all a soldier can endure but shame | M |
| And every chance of warfare but to fly | G |
| I do not murmur at my destiny | J |
| It can but go with love with whom it came | M |
| And love is like the sun his light is sweet | G |
| And sweet his shadow welcome both to me | J |
| Better for ever to endure that hurt | G |
| Which thou canst taste but once than once to lie | G |
| At ease when thou hast anguish Better I | G |
| Be often sad when thou art gay than gay | E |
| One moment of thy sorrow Tho' I pray | E |
| Too oft I shall win nothing of the sky | G |
| But my unfilled desire and thy desert | G |
| Can take it and still lack Oh might I stay | E |
| At the shut gates of heaven that so I meet | G |
| Each issuing fate and cling about his feet | G |
| And melt the dreadful purpose of his eye | G |
| And not one power pass unimpleaded by | G |
| Whose bolt might be for thee Aye love is sweet | G |
| In shine or shade But love hath jealousy | J |
| That knowing but so little thinks so much | N |
| And I am jealous of thee even with such | N |
| A fatal knowledge For I wot too well | O |
| In the set season that I cannot tell | O |
| Death will be near thee This thought doth deflour | E |
| All innocence from time I dare not say | E |
| 'Not now ' but for the instant cull the hour | E |
| And for the hour reap all the doubtful day | E |
| And for the day the year and so forlorn | P |
| From morn till night from startled night till morn | P |
| Like a blind slave I bear thine heavy ill | Q |
| Till thy time comes to take it come when 't will | Q |
| The broken slave will bend beneath it still | Q |
Sydney Thompson Dobell
(1)
Poem topics: , Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about Lady Constance poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Best Poems of Sydney Thompson Dobell