Autumn Woods Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABAC DDDD EFEF GHGH IJIK DDDD LDLD GGGG MNMN GDGD DHDO PQPQEre in the northern gale | A |
The summer tresses of the trees are gone | B |
The woods of Autumn all around our vale | A |
Have put their glory on | C |
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The mountains that infold | D |
In their wide sweep the coloured landscape round | D |
Seem groups of giant kings in purple and gold | D |
That guard the enchanted ground | D |
- | |
I roam the woods that crown | E |
The upland where the mingled splendours glow | F |
Where the gay company of trees look down | E |
On the green fields below | F |
- | |
My steps are not alone | G |
In these bright walks the sweet south west at play | H |
Flies rustling where the painted leaves are strown | G |
Along the winding way | H |
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And far in heaven the while | I |
The sun that sends that gale to wander here | J |
Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile | I |
The sweetest of the year | K |
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Where now the solemn shade | D |
Verdure and gloom where many branches meet | D |
So grateful when the noon of summer made | D |
The valleys sick with heat | D |
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Let in through all the trees | L |
Come the strange rays the forest depths are bright | D |
Their sunny coloured foliage in the breeze | L |
Twinkles like beams of light | D |
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The rivulet late unseen | G |
Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run | G |
Shines with the image of its golden screen | G |
And glimmerings of the sun | G |
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But 'neath yon crimson tree | M |
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame | N |
Nor mark within its roseate canopy | M |
Her blush of maiden shame | N |
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Oh Autumn why so soon | G |
Depart the hues that make thy forests glad | D |
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon | G |
And leave thee wild and sad | D |
- | |
Ah 'twere a lot too blessed | D |
For ever in thy coloured shades to stray | H |
Amid the kisses of the soft south west | D |
To rove and dream for aye | O |
- | |
And leave the vain low strife | P |
That makes men mad the tug for wealth and power | Q |
The passions and the cares that wither life | P |
And waste its little hour | Q |
William Cullen Bryant
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