A Parental Ode To My Son, Aged Three Years And Five Months Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABACDDEE FFBB GGHFHF IJIJKLKL MMNNOOPPQQRR FFSSFFTFFTLL UUVVOOO| Thou happy happy elf | A |
| But stop first let me kiss away that tear | B |
| Thou tiny image of myself | A |
| My love he's poking peas into his ear | C |
| Thou merry laughing sprite | D |
| With spirits feather light | D |
| Untouch'd by sorrow and unsoil'd by sin | E |
| Good heav'ns the child is swallowing a pin | E |
| - | |
| Thou little tricksy Puck | F |
| With antic toys so funnily bestuck | F |
| Light as the singing bird that wings the air | B |
| The door the door he'll tumble down the stair | B |
| - | |
| Thou darling of thy sire | G |
| Why Jane he'll set his pinafore a fire | G |
| Thou imp of mirth and joy | H |
| In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link | F |
| Thou idol of thy parents Drat the boy | H |
| There goes my ink | F |
| - | |
| Thou cherub but of earth | I |
| Fit playfellow for Fays by moonlight pale | J |
| In harmless sport and mirth | I |
| That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail | J |
| Thou human humming bee extracting honey | K |
| From ev'ry blossom in the world that blows | L |
| Singing in Youth's Elysium ever sunny | K |
| Another tumble that's his precious nose | L |
| - | |
| Thy father's pride and hope | M |
| He'll break the mirror with that skipping rope | M |
| With pure heart newly stamp'd from Nature's mint | N |
| Where did he learn that squint | N |
| Thou young domestic dove | O |
| He'll have that jug off with another shove | O |
| Dear nurseling of the hymeneal nest | P |
| Are those torn clothes his best | P |
| Little epitome of man | Q |
| He'll climb upon the table that's his plan | Q |
| Touch'd with the beauteous tints of dawning life | R |
| He's got a knife | R |
| - | |
| Thou enviable being | F |
| No storms no clouds in thy blue sky foreseeing | F |
| Play on play on | S |
| My elfin John | S |
| Toss the light ball bestride the stick | F |
| I knew so many cakes would make him sick | F |
| With fancies buoyant as the thistle down | T |
| Prompting the face grotesque and antic brisk | F |
| With many a lamb like frisk | F |
| He's got the scissors snipping at your gown | T |
| Thou pretty opening rose | L |
| Go to your mother child and wipe your nose | L |
| - | |
| Balmy and breathing music like the South | U |
| He really brings my heart into my mouth | U |
| Fresh as the morn and brilliant as its star | V |
| I wish that window had an iron bar | V |
| Bold as the hawk yet gentle as the dove | O |
| I'll tell you what my love | O |
| I cannot write unless he's sent above | O |
Thomas Hood
(1)
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