Poet William Wordsworth

William Wordsworth

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Power Of Music Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AA BBCC DDEE FFGG GGHH GGGG IIJJ KKLL GGMM GGNN OOGG PPQQ

A
A
-
-
-
-
-
-
AN Orpheus an Orpheus yes Faith may grow boldB
And take to herself all the wonders of oldB
Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the sameC
In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its nameC
-
His station is there and he works on the crowdD
He sways them with harmony merry and loudD
He fills with his power all their hearts to the brimE
Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and himE
-
What an eager assembly what an empire is thisF
The weary have life and the hungry have blissF
The mourner is cheered and the anxious have restG
And the guilt burthened soul is no longer opprestG
-
As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the nightG
So He where he stands is a centre of lightG
It gleams on the face there of dusky browed JackH
And the pale visaged Baker's with basket on backH
-
That errand bound 'Prentice was passing in hasteG
What matter he's caught and his time runs to wasteG
The Newsman is stopped though he stops on the fretG
And the half breathless Lamplighter he's in the netG
-
The Porter sits down on the weight which he boreI
The Lass with her barrow wheels hither her storeI
If a thief could be here he might pilfer at easeJ
She sees the Musician 'tis all that she seesJ
-
He stands backed by the wall he abates not his dinK
His hat gives him vigour with boons dropping inK
From the old and the young from the poorest and thereL
The one pennied Boy has his penny to spareL
-
O blest are the hearers and proud be the handG
Of the pleasure it spreads through so thankful a bandG
I am glad for him blind as he is all the whileM
If they speak 'tis to praise and they praise with a smileM
-
That tall Man a giant in bulk and in heightG
Not an inch of his body is free from delightG
Can he keep himself still if he would oh not heN
The music stirs in him like wind through a treeN
-
Mark that Cripple who leans on his crutch like a towerO
That long has leaned forward leans hour after hourO
That Mother whose spirit in fetters is boundG
While she dandles the Babe in her arms to the soundG
-
Now coaches and chariots roar on like a streamP
Here are twenty souls happy as souls in a dreamP
They are deaf to your murmurs they care not for youQ
Nor what ye are flying nor what ye pursueQ

William Wordsworth



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