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Four-line stanzas (quatrains) that rhyme ABAB, alternating between between four-stress and three-stress iambic lines. See Ballad, a form written in common measure.
You charm’d me not with that fair face
Though it was all divine:
To be another’s is the grace,
Somebody said that it couldn’t be done
But he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading — treading — till it seemed
“Hope” is the thing with feathers —
That perches in the soul —
And sings the tune without the words —
When Love with unconfinèd wings
Hovers within my Gates,
And my divine Althea brings
Ay, gaze upon her rose-wreathed hair,
And gaze upon her smile;
Seem as you drank the very air
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
So, we’ll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
What is he buzzing in my ears?
“Now that I come to die,
Do I view the world as a vale of tears?”
Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
Restored my earth to joy
Have you departed, every one,
