Haunted Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Haunted Ay in a social way	A
By a body of ghosts in dread array	A
But no conventional spectres they	A
Appalling grim and tricky	B
I quail at mine as I'd never quail	C
At a fine traditional spectre pale	C
With a turnip head and a ghostly wail	C
And a splash of blood on the dickey	B
	-
Mine are horrible social ghosts	D
Speeches and women and guests and hosts	D
Weddings and morning calls and toasts	D
In every bad variety	B
Ghosts who hover about the grave	E
Of all that's manly free and brave	E
You'll find their names on the architrave	E
Of that charnel house Society	B
	-
Black Monday black as its school room ink	F
With its dismal boys that snivel and think	F
Of its nauseous messes to eat and drink	F
And its frozen tank to wash in	G
That was the first that brought me grief	H
And made me weep till I sought relief	H
In an emblematical handkerchief	I
To choke such baby bosh in	G
	-
First and worst in the grim array	A
Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way	A
Which I wouldn't revive for a single day	A
For all the wealth of PLUTUS	D
Are the horrible ghosts that school days scared	J
If the classical ghost that BRUTUS dared	J
Was the ghost of his Caesar unprepared	J
I'm sure I pity BRUTUS	D
	-
I pass to critical seventeen	K
The ghost of that terrible wedding scene	K
When an elderly Colonel stole my Queen	K
And woke my dream of heaven	L
No schoolgirl decked in her nurse room curls	D
Was my gushing innocent Queen of Pearls	D
If she wasn't a girl of a thousand girls	D
She was one of forty seven	L
	-
I see the ghost of my first cigar	M
Of the thence arising family jar	M
Of my maiden brief I was at the Bar	M
And I called the Judge Your wushup	N
Of reckless days and reckless nights	D
With wrenched off knockers extinguished lights	D
Unholy songs and tipsy fights	D
Which I strove in vain to hush up	N
	-
Ghosts of fraudulent joint stock banks	D
Ghosts of copy declined with thanks	D
Of novels returned in endless ranks	D
And thousands more I suffer	O
The only line to fitly grace	D
My humble tomb when I've run my race	D
Is Reader this is the resting place	D
Of an unsuccessful duffer	O
	-
I've fought them all these ghosts of mine	P
But the weapons I've used are sighs and brine	P
And now that I'm nearly forty nine	P
Old age is my chiefest bogy	Q
For my hair is thinning away at the crown	R
And the silver fights with the worn out brown	R
And a general verdict sets me down	R
As an irreclaimable fogy	Q

William Schwenck Gilbert

Haunted Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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