Vanitas Vanitatum Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCB DEFG HIJI AKCK BGBE FBFB LMKM FBDB KNLN LMLM OPOQ RSRP TPPP UVUB WBWB XLXL

How spake of old the Royal SeerA
His text is one I love to treat onB
This life of ours he said is sheerC
Mataiotes MataiotetonB
-
O Student of this gilded BookD
Declare while musing on its pagesE
If truer words were ever spokeF
By ancient or by modern sagesG
-
The various authors' names but noteH
French Spanish English Russians GermansI
And in the volume polyglotJ
Sure you may read a hundred sermonsI
-
What histories of life are hereA
More wild than all romancers' storiesK
What wondrous transformations queerC
What homilies on human gloriesK
-
What theme for sorrow or for scornB
What chronicle of Fate's surprisesG
Of adverse fortune nobly borneB
Of chances changes ruins risesE
-
Of thrones upset and sceptres brokeF
How strange a record here is writtenB
Of honors dealt as if in jokeF
Of brave desert unkindly smittenB
-
How low men were and how they riseL
How high they were and how they tumbleM
O vanity of vanitiesK
O laughable pathetic jumbleM
-
Here between honest Janin's jokeF
And his Turk Excellency's firmanB
I write my name upon the bookD
I write my name and end my sermonB
-
-
-
O Vanity of vanitiesK
How wayward the decrees of Fate areN
How very weak the very wiseL
How very small the very great areN
-
What mean these stale moralitiesL
Sir Preacher from your desk you mumbleM
Why rail against the great and wiseL
And tire us with your ceaseless grumbleM
-
Pray choose us out another textO
O man morose and narrow mindedP
Come turn the page I read the nextO
And then the next and still I find itQ
-
Read here how Wealth aside was thrustR
And Folly set in place exaltedS
How Princes footed in the dustR
While lackeys in the saddle vaultedP
-
Though thrice a thousand years are pastT
Since David's son the sad and splendidP
The weary King EcclesiastP
Upon his awful tablets penned itP
-
Methinks the text is never staleU
And life is every day renewingV
Fresh comments on the old old taleU
Of Folly Fortune Glory RuinB
-
Hark to the Preacher preaching stillW
He lifts his voice and cries his sermonB
Here at St Peter's of CornhillW
As yonder on the Mount of HermonB
-
For you and me to heart to takeX
O dear beloved brother readersL
To day as when the good King spakeX
Beneath the solemn Syrian cedarsL

William Makepeace Thackeray



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