Poet William Butler Yeats

William Butler Yeats

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The Song Of The Happy Shepherd Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABABACDCDEDFDGAGAGHH GIJJIJKKLLJMMJGNNGOO JEEJPPMQMQMRRJJJJ

The woods of Arcady are deadA
And over is their antique joyB
Of old the world on dreaming fedA
Grey Truth is now her painted toyB
Yet still she turns her restless headA
But O sick children of the worldC
Of all the many changing thingsD
In dreary dancing past us whirledC
To the cracked tune that Chronos singsD
Words alone are certain goodE
Where are now the warring kingsD
Word be mockers By the RoodF
Where are now the watring kingsD
An idle word is now their gloryG
By the stammering schoolboy saidA
Reading some entangled storyG
The kings of the old time are deadA
The wandering earth herself may beG
Only a sudden flaming wordH
In clanging space a moment heardH
Troubling the endless reverieG
Then nowise worship dusty deedsI
Nor seek for this is also soothJ
To hunger fiercely after truthJ
Lest all thy toiling only breedsI
New dreams new dreams there is no truthJ
Saving in thine own heart Seek thenK
No learning from the starry menK
Who follow with the optic glassL
The whirling ways of stars that passL
Seek then for this is also soothJ
No word of theirs the cold star baneM
Has cloven and rent their hearts in twainM
And dead is all their human truthJ
Go gather by the humming seaG
Some twisted echo harbouring shellN
And to its lips thy story tellN
And they thy comforters will beG
Rewording in melodious guileO
Thy fretful words a little whileO
Till they shall singing fade in ruthJ
And die a pearly brotherhoodE
For words alone are certain goodE
Sing then for this is also soothJ
I must be gone there is a graveP
Where daffodil and lily waveP
And I would please the hapless faunM
Buried under the sleepy groundQ
With mirthful songs before the dawnM
His shouting days with mirth were crownedQ
And still I dream he treads the lawnM
Walking ghostly in the dewR
Pierced by my glad singing throughR
My songs of old earth's dreamy youthJ
But ah she dreams not now dream thouJ
For fair are poppies on the browJ
Dream dream for this is also soothJ

William Butler Yeats



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