Worth Forest Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCDEEFFGGHHIIJJKK LLKKMMNNAA KKKBKKOOPPKKQROOSSTJ UUBBEEKKAAQVWWKKXXYY KKIIOOYYKKYYBBOOYYZA 2WWYYKKYY BBYYYYK B2B2KKYYXXC2D2KKBBE2 E2OOF2ZG2G2YYH2KOOI2 I2KK BBJ2J2AAOOK2PYYOOI2I 2WWOOL2M2OOKKY YYOOBBE2E2YYYYN2

Come Prudence you have done enough to dayA
The worst is over and some hours of playA
We both have earned even more than rest from toilB
Our minds need laughter as a spent lamp oilB
And after their long fast a recompenseC
How sweet the evening is with its fresh scentsD
Of briar and fern distilled by the warm windE
How green a robe the rain has left behindE
How the birds laugh What say you to a walkF
Over the hill and our long promised talkF
About the rights and wrongs of infancyG
Our patients are asleep dear angels sheG
Holding the boy in her ecstatic armsH
As mothers do and free from past alarmsH
The child grown calm If we an hour or twoI
Venture to leave them 'tis but our hope's dueI
My tongue is all agog to try its speedJ
To a new listener like a long stalled steedJ
Loosed in a meadow and the Forest liesK
At hand the theme of its best flatteriesK
See Prudence here your hat where it was thrownL
The night you found me in the house aloneL
With my worst fear and these two helpless thingsK
Please God that worst has folded its black wingsK
And we may let our thoughts on pleasure runM
Some moments in the light of this good sunM
They sleep in Heaven's guard Our watch to nightN
Will be the braver for a transient sightN
The only one perhaps more fair than theyA
Of Nature dressed for her June holidayA
-
This is the watershed between the ThamesK
And the South coast On either hand the streamsK
Run to the great Thames valley and the seaK
The Downs which should oppose them servilelyB
Giving them passage Who would think these DownsK
Which look like mountains when the sea mist crownsK
Their tops in autumn were so poor a chainO
Yet they divide no pathways for the rainO
Nor store up waters in this pluvious ageP
More than the pasteboard barriers of a stageP
The crest lies here From us the Medway flowsK
To drain the Weald of Kent and hence the OuseK
Starts for the Channel at Newhaven BothQ
These streams run eastward bearing North and SouthR
But to the West the Adur and the ArunO
Rising together like twin rills of SharonO
Go forth diversely this through Shoreham gapS
And that by Arundel to Ocean's lapS
All are our rivers by our Forest bredT
And one besides which with more reverend heedJ
We need to speak for her desert is greatU
Beyond the actual wealth of her estateU
For Spenser sang of her the River MoleB
And Milton knew her name though he poor soulB
Had never seen her as I think being blindE
And so miscalled her sullen Others findE
Her special merit to consist in thisK
A maiden coyness and her shy deviceK
Of mole like burrowing And in truth her wayA
Is hollowed out and hidden from the dayA
Under deep banks and the dark overgrowthQ
Of knotted alder roots and stumps uncouthV
From source to mouth and once at MicklehamW
She fairly digs her grave in deed and nameW
And disappears There is an early traceK
Of this propensity to devious waysK
Shown by the little tributary brookX
Which bounds our fields for lately it forsookX
Its natural course to burrow out a roadY
Under an ash tree in its neighbourhoodY
But whether this a special virtue isK
Or like some virtues but a special viceK
We need not argue This at least is trueI
That in the Mole are trout and many tooI
As I have often proved with rod and lineO
From boyhood up blest days of pins and twineO
How many an afternoon have our hushed feetY
Crept through the alders where the waters meetY
Mary's and mine and our eyes viewed the poolsK
Where the trout lay poor unsuspecting foolsK
And our hands framed their doom while overheadY
His orchestra of birds the backbird ledY
In those lost days no angler of them allB
Could boast our cunning with the bait let fallB
Close to their snouts from some deceiving coigneO
Or mark more notches when we stopped to joinO
Our fishes head to tail and lay them outY
Upon the grass and count our yards of troutY
'Twas best in June with the brook growing clearZ
After a shower as now In dark weatherA2
It was less certain angling for the streamW
Was truly sullen'' then so deep and dimW
'Tis thus in mountain lakes as some relateY
Where the fish need the sun to see the baitY
The fly takes nothing in these tangled brooksK
But grief to fishermen and loss of hooksK
And all our angling was of godless sortY
With living worm and yet we loved the sportY
-
But wait This path will lead us to the gillB
Where you shall see the Mole in her first rillB
Ere yet she leaves the Forest and her bedY
Is still of iron stone which stains her redY
Yet keeps her pure and lends a pleasant tasteY
To her young waters as they bubble pastY
You hear her lapping round the barren flanksK
Of these old heaps we call the Cinder banks ''-
Where our forefathers forged their iron oreB2
When Paul's was building Now the rabbits boreB2
In the still nights beneath these ancient heapsK
A very honeycomb See where she peepsK
The infant river You could hardly wetY
Your ankles in her midmost eddy yetY
She has a pretty cunning in her lookX
Mixed with alarm as in her secret nookX
We find her out half fugitive half braveC2
A look that all the Forest creatures haveD2
Let us away Perhaps her guilelessnessK
Is troubled at a guilty human faceK
Mine Prudence not your own I know a dellB
Knee deep in fern hard by the very cellB
For an elf hermit Here stag mosses growE2
Thick as a coverlet and fox gloves blowE2
Purple and white and the wild columbineO
And here in May there springs that thing divineO
The lily of the valley only hereF2
Found in the Forest blossoming year on yearZ
A place o'ershadowed by a low crowned oakG2
The enchanted princess never had been wokeG2
If she had gone to sleep in such a spotY
In spite of fortune Why a corpse forgotY
Might lie with eyes appealing to the skyH2
Unburied here for half a centuryK
And this the woodcocks as I take it knewO
Who stayed to breed here all the summer throughO
When other birds were gone I flushed a pairI2
On the longest day last year the nest was thereI2
And found some egg shells chipped among the mossK
The sight is rarer now than once it wasK
-
There We have gathered breath and climbed the hillB
And now can view the landscape more at willB
This is the Pilgrim road a well known trackJ2
When folk did all their travelling on horsebackJ2
Now long deserted yet a right of wayA
And marked on all our maps with due displayA
Beneath this yew tree which perhaps has seenO
Our fathers riding to St Thomas' shrineO
For this was once the way of pilgrimageK2
From the south west for all who would engageP
Their vows at Canterbury we will sitY
As doubtless they too sat and rest a bitY
I love this solitude of birch and fernO
These quags and mosses and I love the sternO
Black yew trees and the hoary pastures bareI2
Or tufted with long growths of withered hairI2
And rank marsh grass I love the bell heath's bloomW
And the wild wealth which passionate Earth's wombW
Throws in the Forest's lap to clothe unseenO
Its ancient barrenness with youth and greenO
I love the Forest 'tis but this one stripL2
Along the watershed that still dares keepM2
Its title to such name Yet once wide grownO
A mighty woodland stretched from Down to DownO
The last stronghold and desperate standing placeK
Of that indigenous Britannic raceK
Which fell before the English It was calledY
By Rome Anderida '' in Saxon Weald ''-
Time and decay and Man's relentless moodY
Have long made havock of the lower woodY
With axe and plough and now of all the plainO
These breadths of higher ground alone remainO
In token of its presence Who shall tellB
How long in these lost wilds of brake and fellB
Or in the tangled groves of oak belowE2
Gathering his sacred leaf the mistletoeE2
Some Druid priest forgotten and in needY
May here have kept his rite and owned his creedY
After the rest For hardly yet less rudeY
Here later dwelt that patron of our woodY
TheN2

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt



Rate:
(1)



Poem topics: , Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme

Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation


Write your comment about Worth Forest poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt


 

Recent Interactions*

This poem was read 6 times,

This poem was added to the favorite list by 0 members,

This poem was voted by 0 members.

(* Interactions only in the last 7 days)

New Poems

Popular Poets