The Olive Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABCDEFGDBEABHIHBJKF BGGLLMMENNOOPPQRQSTU MSVBUBWTIWBI BBBXBYZBYZXBBOUUBBBW BA2B2B2ABC2D2E2D2E2C 2BF2F2BG2BG2BBBRA2BB BBBBZBBBBB

I have heard a friar sayA
That the Olive learned to prayA
In GethsemaneB
A holy man was heC
Jacopo by nameD
All upon his bended kneesE
From JerusalemF
He crossed Kedron brookG
And to the garden cameD
Of GethsemaneB
And the very olive treesE
Are there to this dayA
And I would have you knowB
For I loved to hear him speakH
Good Friar JacopoI
That on an Easter weekH
In the time long agoB
Of bloody Pilate 'King of Rome 'J
Lord JesusK
To the garden gate did comeF
Of GethsemaneB
And as He came at the dear lookG
O' the Lord a sudden shudder shookG
The wood and wooden moans and groansL
Allowed the silence of the stonesL
The stones that next day as 'tis saidM
Oped their mouths and spake the deadM
And when He bent His sacred kneesE
The shame of limbs that could not bendN
Suppled every bough's endN
To a lytheO
And pliant wytheO
But ere He spake a silent stoodP
Every tree in all the woodP
And the silence began to fillQ
Inly as the ears with bloodR
When the outer world is stillQ
And when He spake at the firstS
'Let this cup' did somewhat swellT
Every twig and tip asunderU
Like the silence in the headM
When the veins are nigh to burstS
And at the second was nothing seerV
To stir but all the swollen greenB
Blackened as a cloud with thunderU
But in the final agonyB
When His anguish brake its bandsW
And the bloody sweat down fellT
At the third 'Let this cup'I
As He lifted up His handsW
Black drops fell from every treeB
And all the forest lifted upI
-
-
The Lord went to CalvaryB
Well perhaps for you and meB
Brother who being men are fainB
To profit by the blessed lossX
That quivers overhead while weB
At the foot of the cross mastY
With the hereditary faceZ
Reckon up our selfish gainB
Rend his sacred weeds and castY
Lots for the vesture of His graceZ
Aye at the dabbled foot of the CrossX
While that dear blood doth flowB
The Olive cannot chaffer soB
Not being a man altho'O
Since the pallors of that hourU
It hath kept a human powerU
And is not quite a treeB
Now and thenB
Round the unbelief of menB
It lifts up praying handsW
Because it is so much a treeB
And cannot tell its taleA2
Nor reachB2
To clear its knowledge into speechB2
And whether on that awful dayA
In GethsemaneB
There was windC2
Or whether because day and nightD2
And day again all winds that blewE2
From the City on the heightD2
Shuddered with the things they knewE2
I know not but you shall findC2
An Almighty MemoryB
That yearly grows and flowers and fruitsF2
And strikes the blindness of its rootsF2
And suckers forth but howsoe'erB
It blindly beat itself beyondG2
Its planted first can do no moreB
Than stretch the measure of its bondG2
And shape as it had shaped beforeB
The arborous passion that can ne'erB
Be paroled into shriving airB
Sicken in the leafy bloodR
And turn it deadly paleA2
And as when a strong maladyB
Of tertian and quatertian painB
Turning the cause whence it beganB
Into the woe of manB
By loops and conduits else too fineB
For an incarnadineB
Hath shaken shaken it from the body into spaceZ
When life and health again co reignB
And all youth's rosy cheerB
Tunes every nerve and summers every veinB
Some crucial habit of the brainB
Sudden repeats the unforgotten throeB

Sydney Thompson Dobell



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