The Farmer Of Tilsbury Vale Poem Rhyme Scheme

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'TIS not for the unfeeling the falsely refined	A
The squeamish in taste and the narrow of mind	A
And the small critic wielding his delicate pen	B
That I sing of old Adam the pride of old men	B
	-
He dwells in the centre of London's wide Town	C
His staff is a sceptre his grey hairs a crown	C
And his bright eyes look brighter set off by the streak	D
Of the unfaded rose that still blooms on his cheek	D
	-
'Mid the dews in the sunshine of morn 'mid the joy	E
Of the fields he collected that bloom when a boy	E
That countenance there fashioned which spite of a stain	F
That his life hath received to the last will remain	F
	-
A Farmer he was and his house far and near	G
Was the boast of the country for excellent cheer	G
How oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale	H
Of the silver rimmed horn whence he dealt his mild ale	H
	-
Yet Adam was far as the farthest from ruin	I
His fields seemed to know what their Master was doing	J
And turnips and corn land and meadow and lea	K
All caught the infection as generous as he	K
	-
Yet Adam prized little the feast and the bowl	L
The fields better suited the ease of his soul	L
He strayed through the fields like an indolent wight	M
The quiet of nature was Adam's delight	M
	-
For Adam was simple in thought and the poor	N
Familiar with him made an inn of his door	O
He gave them the best that he had or to say	P
What less may mislead you they took it away	P
	-
Thus thirty smooth years did he thrive on his farm	Q
The Genius of plenty preserved him from harm	Q
At length what to most is a season of sorrow	R
His means are run out he must beg or must borrow	R
	-
To the neighbours he went all were free with their money	K
For his hive had so long been replenished with honey	K
That they dreamt not of dearth He continued his rounds	S
Knocked here and knocked there pounds still adding to pounds	S
	-
He paid what he could with his ill gotten pelf	T
And something it might be reserved for himself	T
Then what is too true without hinting a word	U
Turned his back on the country and off like a bird	U
	-
You lift up your eyes but I guess that you frame	V
A judgment too harsh of the sin and the shame	V
In him it was scarcely a business of art	W
For this he did all in the 'ease' of his heart	W
	-
To London a sad emigration I ween	K
With his grey hairs he went from the brook and the green	K
And there with small wealth but his legs and his hands	X
As lonely he stood as a crow on the sands	X
	-
All trades as need was did old Adam assume	Y
Served as stable boy errand boy porter and groom	Y
But nature is gracious necessity kind	A
And in spite of the shame that may lurk in his mind	A
	-
He seems ten birthdays younger is green and is stout	Z
Twice as fast as before does his blood run about	Z
You would say that each hair of his beard was alive	T
And his fingers are busy as bees in a hive	T
	-
For he's not like an Old Man that leisurely goes	A2
About work that he knows in a track that he knows	A2
But often his mind is compelled to demur	B2
And you guess that the more then his body must stir	B2
	-
In the throng of the town like a stranger is he	K
Like one whose own country's far over the sea	K
And Nature while through the great city he hies	K
Full ten times a day takes his heart by surprise	K
	-
This gives him the fancy of one that is young	C2
More of soul in his face than of words on his tongue	C2
Like a maiden of twenty he trembles and sighs	K
And tears of fifteen will come into his eyes	K
	-
What's a tempest to him or the dry parching heats	K
Yet he watches the clouds that pass over the streets	K
With a look of such earnestness often will stand	D2
You might think he'd twelve reapers at work in the Strand	D2
	-
Where proud Covent garden in desolate hours	K
Of snow and hoar frost spreads her fruits and her flowers	K
Old Adam will smile at the pains that have made	E2
Poor winter look fine in such strange masquerade	E2
	-
'Mid coaches and chariots a waggon of straw	F2
Like a magnet the heart of old Adam can draw	F2
With a thousand soft pictures his memory will teem	G2
And his hearing is touched with the sounds of a dream	G2
	-
Up the Haymarket hill he oft whistles his way	P
Thrusts his hands in a waggon and smells at the hay	P
He thinks of the fields he so often hath mown	K
And is happy as if the rich freight were his own	K
	-
But chiefly to Smithfield he loves to repair	H2
If you pass by at morning you'll meet with him there	H2
The breath of the cows you may see him inhale	H
And his heart all the while is in Tilsbury Vale	H
	-
Now farewell old Adam when low thou art laid	E2
May one blade of grass spring up over thy head	I2
And I hope that thy grave wheresoever it be	K
Will hear the wind sigh through the leaves of a tree	K

William Wordsworth

The Farmer Of Tilsbury Vale Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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