Come Up From The Fields, Father Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABC DEFGGHHI GJKL LMN IO PGQRPSTE PUGV WXGE PQPG EYCIIGZC

Come up from the fields father here's a letter from our PeteA
And come to the front door mother here's a letter from thy dearB
sonC
-
Lo 'tis autumnD
Lo where the trees deeper green yellower and redderE
Cool and sweeten Ohio's villages with leaves fluttering in theF
moderate windG
Where apples ripe in the orchards hang and grapes on the trellis'dG
vinesH
Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vinesH
Smell you the buckwheat where the bees were lately buzzingI
-
Above all lo the sky so calm so transparent after the rain andG
with wondrous cloudsJ
Below too all calm all vital and beautiful and the farm prospersK
wellL
-
Down in the fields all prospers wellL
But now from the fields come father come at the daughter's callM
And come to the entry mother to the front door come right awayN
-
Fast as she can she hurries something ominous her steps tremblingI
She does not tarry to smoothe her hair nor adjust her capO
-
Open the envelope quicklyP
O this is not our son's writing yet his name is sign'dG
O a strange hand writes for our dear son O stricken mother's soulQ
All swims before her eyes flashes with black she catches the mainR
words onlyP
Sentences broken gun shot wound in the breast cavalry skirmishS
taken to hospitalT
At present low but will soon be betterE
-
-
Ah now the single figure to meP
Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio with all its cities and farmsU
Sickly white in the face and dull in the head very faintG
By the jamb of a door leansV
-
Grieve not so dear mother the just grown daughter speaks throughW
her sobsX
The little sisters huddle around speechless and dismay'dG
See dearest mother the letter says Pete will soon be betterE
-
-
Alas poor boy he will never be better nor may be needs to beP
better that brave and simple soulQ
While they stand at home at the door he is dead alreadyP
The only son is deadG
-
But the mother needs to be betterE
She with thin form presently drest in blackY
By day her meals untouch'd then at night fitfully sleeping oftenC
wakingI
In the midnight waking weeping longing with one deep longingI
O that she might withdraw unnoticed silent from life escape andG
withdrawZ
To follow to seek to be with her dear dead sonC

Walt Whitman



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