Coole Park And Ballylee, 1931 Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABABACDD EFEGHGII JKJKJKLL MNMNMOPP QRQRQRSS TRPRURVW

Under my window ledge the waters raceA
Otters below and moor hens on the topB
Run for a mile undimmed in Heaven's faceA
Then darkening through 'dark' Raftery's 'cellar' dropB
Run underground rise in a rocky placeA
In Coole demesne and there to finish upC
Spread to a lake and drop into a holeD
What's water but the generated soulD
-
Upon the border of that lake's a woodE
Now all dry sticks under a wintry sunF
And in a copse of beeches there I stoodE
For Nature's pulled her tragic buskin onG
And all the rant's a mirror of my moodH
At sudden thunder of the mounting swanG
I turned about and looked where branches breakI
The glittering reaches of the flooded lakeI
-
Another emblem there That stormy whiteJ
But seems a concentration of the skyK
And like the soul it sails into the sightJ
And in the morning's gone no man knows whyK
And is so lovely that it sets to rightJ
What knowledge or its lack had set awryK
So atrogantly pure a child might thinkL
It can be murdered with a spot of inkL
-
Sound of a stick upon the floor a soundM
From somebody that toils from chair to chairN
Beloved books that famous hands have boundM
Old marble heads old pictures everywhereN
Great rooms where travelled men and children foundM
Content or joy a last inheritorO
Where none has reigned that lacked a name and fameP
Or out of folly into folly cameP
-
A spot whereon the founders lived and diedQ
Seemed once more dear than life ancestral treesR
Or gardens rich in memory glorifiedQ
Marriages alliances and familiesR
And every bride's ambition satisfiedQ
Where fashion or mere fantasy decreesR
We shift about all that great glory spentS
Like some poor Arab tribesman and his tentS
-
We were the last romantics chose for themeT
Traditional sanctity and lovelinessR
Whatever's written in what poets nameP
The book of the people whatever most can blessR
The mind of man or elevate a rhymeU
But all is changed that high horse riderlessR
Though mounted in that saddle Homer rodeV
Where the swan drifts upon a darkening floodW

William Butler Yeats



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