The Brute Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABCCCDB EEFGGGFF AAHIIIHJ KKLMMMLL NNAOOOAA PPQR RQ SSTAATT UUVWWWXV CCAYRYAAA IIIZZZA2A2A2| Through his might men work their wills | A |
| They have boweled out the hills | A |
| For food to keep him toiling in the cages they have wrought | B |
| And they fling him hour by hour | C |
| Limbs of men to give him power | C |
| Brains of men to give him cunning and for dainties to devour | C |
| Children's souls the little worth hearts of women cheaply bought | D |
| He takes them and he breaks them but he gives them scanty thought | B |
| - | |
| For about the noisy land | E |
| Roaring quivering 'neath his hand | E |
| His thoughts brood fierce and sullen or laugh in lust of pride | F |
| O'er the stubborn things that he | G |
| Breaks to dust and brings to be | G |
| Some he mightily establishes some flings down utterly | G |
| There is thunder in his stride nothing ancient can abide | F |
| When he hales the hills together and bridles up the tide | F |
| - | |
| Quietude and loveliness | A |
| Holy sights that heal and bless | A |
| They are scattered and abolished where his iron hoof is set | H |
| When he splashes through the brae | I |
| Silver streams are choked with clay | I |
| When he snorts the bright cliffs crumble and the woods go down like hay | I |
| He lairs in pleasant cities and the haggard people fret | H |
| Squalid 'mid their new got riches soot begrimed and desolate | J |
| - | |
| They who caught and bound him tight | K |
| Laughed exultant at his might | K |
| Saying Now behold the good time comes for the weariest and the least | L |
| We will use this lusty knave | M |
| No more need for men to slave | M |
| We may rise and look about us and have knowledge ere the grave | M |
| But the Brute said in his breast Till the mills I grind have ceased | L |
| The riches shall be dust of dust dry ashes be the feast | L |
| - | |
| On the strong and cunning few | N |
| Cynic favors I will strew | N |
| I will stuff their maw with overplus until their spirit dies | A |
| From the patient and the low | O |
| I will take the joys they know | O |
| They shall hunger after vanities and still an hungered go | O |
| Madness shall be on the people ghastly jealousies arise | A |
| Brother's blood shall cry on brother up the dead and empty skies | A |
| - | |
| I will burn and dig and hack | P |
| Till the heavens suffer lack | P |
| God shall feel a pleasure fail him crying to his cherubim | Q |
| 'Who hath flung yon mud ball there | R |
| Where my world went green and fair ' | - |
| I shall laugh and hug me hearing how his sentinels declare | R |
| ''T is the Brute they chained to labor He has made the bright earth dim | Q |
| Store of wares and pelf a plenty but they got no good of him ' | - |
| - | |
| So he plotted in his rage | S |
| So he deals it age by age | S |
| But even as he roared his curse a still small Voice befell | T |
| Lo a still and pleasant voice bade them none the less rejoice | A |
| For the Brute must bring the good time on he has no other choice | A |
| He may struggle sweat and yell but he knows exceeding well | T |
| He must work them out salvation ere they send him back to hell | T |
| - | |
| All the desert that he made | U |
| He must treble bless with shade | U |
| In primal wastes set precious seed of rapture and of pain | V |
| All the strongholds that he built | W |
| For the powers of greed and guilt | W |
| He must strew their bastions down the sea and choke their towers with silt | W |
| He must make the temples clean for the gods to come again | X |
| And lift the lordly cities under skies without a stain | V |
| - | |
| In a very cunning tether | C |
| He must lead the tyrant weather | C |
| He must loose the curse of Adam from the worn neck of the race | A |
| He must cast out hate and fear | Y |
| Dry away each fruitless tear | R |
| And make the fruitful tears to gush from the deep heart and clear | Y |
| He must give each man his portion each his pride and worthy place | A |
| He must batter down the arrogant and lift the weary face | A |
| On each vile mouth set purity on each low forehead grace | A |
| - | |
| Then perhaps at the last day | I |
| They will whistle him away | I |
| Lay a hand upon his muzzle in the face of God and say | I |
| Honor Lord the Thing we tamed | Z |
| Let him not be scourged or blamed | Z |
| Even through his wrath and fierceness was thy fierce wroth world reclaimed | Z |
| Honor Thou thy servants' servant let thy justice now be shown | A2 |
| Then the Lord will heed their saying and the Brute come to his own | A2 |
| 'Twixt the Lion and the Eagle by the armpost of the Throne | A2 |
William Vaughn Moody
(1)
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About The Brute
The Brute is a poem by William Vaughn Moody. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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