A Terre (being The Philosophy Of Many Soldiers) Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCC CCCCDE FGHCCIIJ JKLMNC COPQQRRSTUV OWXYCCZA2UB2UU C2D2E2F2LQCLG2C H2CC H2I2C J2C| Sit on the bed I'm blind and three parts shell | A |
| Be careful can't shake hands now never shall | B |
| Both arms have mutinied against me brutes | C |
| My fingers fidget like ten idle brats | C |
| - | |
| I tried to peg out soldierly no use | C |
| One dies of war like any old disease | C |
| This bandage feels like pennies on my eyes | C |
| I have my medals Discs to make eyes close | C |
| My glorious ribbons Ripped from my own back | D |
| In scarlet shreds That's for your poetry book | E |
| - | |
| A short life and a merry one my buck | F |
| We used to say we'd hate to live dead old | G |
| Yet now I'd willingly be puffy bald | H |
| And patriotic Buffers catch from boys | C |
| At least the jokes hurled at them I suppose | C |
| Little I'd ever teach a son but hitting | I |
| Shooting war hunting all the arts of hurting | I |
| Well that's what I learnt that and making money | J |
| - | |
| Your fifty years ahead seem none too many | J |
| Tell me how long I've got God For one year | K |
| To help myself to nothing more than air | L |
| One Spring Is one too good to spare too long | M |
| Spring wind would work its own way to my lung | N |
| And grow me legs as quick as lilac shoots | C |
| - | |
| My servant's lamed but listen how he shouts | C |
| When I'm lugged out he'll still be good for that | O |
| Here in this mummy case you know I've thought | P |
| How well I might have swept his floors for ever | Q |
| I'd ask no nights off when the bustle's over | Q |
| Enjoying so the dirt Who's prejudiced | R |
| Against a grimed hand when his own's quite dust | R |
| Less live than specks that in the sun shafts turn | S |
| Less warm than dust that mixes with arms' tan | T |
| I'd love to be a sweep now black as Town | U |
| Yes or a muckman Must I be his load | V |
| - | |
| O Life Life let me breathe a dug out rat | O |
| Not worse than ours the lives rats lead | W |
| Nosing along at night down some safe rut | X |
| They find a shell proof home before they rot | Y |
| Dead men may envy living mites in cheese | C |
| Or good germs even Microbes have their joys | C |
| And subdivide and never come to death | Z |
| Certainly flowers have the easiest time on earth | A2 |
| 'I shall be one with nature herb and stone' | U |
| Shelley would tell me Shelley would be stunned | B2 |
| The dullest Tommy hugs that fancy now | U |
| 'Pushing up daisies' is their creed you know | U |
| - | |
| To grain then go my fat to buds my sap | C2 |
| For all the usefulness there is in soap | D2 |
| D'you think the Boche will ever stew man soup | E2 |
| Some day no doubt if Friend be very sure | F2 |
| I shall be better off with plants that share | L |
| More peaceably the meadow and the shower | Q |
| Soft rains will touch me as they could touch once | C |
| And nothing but the sun shall make me ware | L |
| Your guns may crash around me I'll not hear | G2 |
| Or if I wince I shall not know I wince | C |
| - | |
| Don't take my soul's poor comfort for your jest | H2 |
| Soldiers may grow a soul when turned to fronds | C |
| But here's the thing's best left at home with friends | C |
| - | |
| My soul's a little grief grappling your chest | H2 |
| To climb your throat on sobs easily chased | I2 |
| On other sighs and wiped by fresher winds | C |
| - | |
| Carry my crying spirit till it's weaned | J2 |
| To do without what blood remained these wounds | C |
Wilfred Owen
(1)
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