Rhymes On The Road. Extract Xi. Florence Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABAC DEFE GHGH IJIJ KLKL MLML NONO PQPQ RLRL LSLS TEUE AVAV LWLC AGAPG XMXM YZYZ GA2GA2 LB2LB2

No 'tis not the region where Love's to be foundA
They have bosoms that sigh they have glances that roveB
They have language a Sappho's own lip might resoundA
When she warbled her best but they've nothing like LoveC
-
Nor is't that pure sentiment only they wantD
Which Heaven for the mild and the tranquil hath madeE
Calm wedded affection that home rooted plantF
Which sweetens seclusion and smiles in the shadeE
-
That feeling which after long years have gone byG
Remains like a portrait we've sat for in youthH
Where even tho' the flush of the colors may flyG
The features still live in their first smiling truthH
-
That union where all that in Woman is kindI
With all that in Man most ennoblingly towersJ
Grow wreathed into one like the column combinedI
Of the strength of the shaft and the capital's flowersJ
-
Of this bear ye witness ye wives everywhereK
By the ARNO the PO by all ITALY'S streamsL
Of this heart wedded love so delicious to shareK
Not a husband hath even one glimpse in his dreamsL
-
But it is not this only born full of the lightM
Of a sun from whose fount the luxuriant festoonsL
Of these beautiful valleys drink lustre so brightM
That beside him our suns of the north are but moonsL
-
We might fancy at least like their climate they burnedN
And that Love tho' unused in this region of springO
To be thus to a tame Household Deity turnedN
Would yet be all soul when abroad on the wingO
-
And there may be there are those explosions of heartP
Which burst when the senses have first caught the flameQ
Such fits of the blood as those climates impartP
Where Love is a sun stroke that maddens the frameQ
-
But that Passion which springs in the depth of the soulR
Whose beginnings are virginly pure as the sourceL
Of some small mountain rivulet destined to rollR
As a torrent ere long losing peace in its courseL
-
A course to which Modesty's struggle but lendsL
A more headlong descent without chance of recallS
But which Modesty even to the last edge attendsL
And then throws a halo of tears round its fallS
-
This exquisite Passion ay exquisite evenT
Mid the ruin its madness too often hath madeE
As it keeps even then a bright trace of the heavenU
That heaven of Virtue from which it has strayedE
-
This entireness of love which can only be foundA
Where Woman like something that's holy watched overV
And fenced from her childhood with purity roundA
Comes body and soul fresh as Spring to a loverV
-
Where not an eye answers where not a hand pressesL
Till spirit with spirit in sympathy moveW
And the Senses asleep in their sacred recessesL
Can only be reached thro' the temple of LoveC
-
This perfection of Passion how can it be foundA
Where the mystery Nature hath hung round the tieG
By which souls are together attracted and boundA
Is laid open for ever to heartP
ear and eyeG
-
Where naught of that innocent doubt can existX
That ignorance even than knowledge more brightM
Which circles the young like the morn's sunny mistX
And curtains them round in their own native lightM
-
Where Experience leaves nothing for Love to revealY
Or for Fancy in visions to gleam o'er the thoughtZ
But the truths which alone we would die to concealY
From the maiden's young heart are the only ones taughtZ
-
No no 'tis not here howsoever we sighG
Whether purely to Hymen's one planet we prayA2
Or adore like Sabaeans each light of Love's skyG
Here is not the region to fix or to strayA2
-
For faithless in wedlock in gallantry grossL
Without honor to guard to reserve to restrainB2
What have they a husband can mourn as a lossL
What have they a lover can prize as a gainB2

Thomas Moore



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