Analysis of Peace, Blessed Peace
Edward George Dyson 1865 (Ballarat, Victoria) – 1931 (Saint Kilda, Melbourne, Victoria)
Here in the flamin' thick of thick of things,
With Death across the way, 'n' traps
What little Fritz the German flings
Explodin' in yer lunch pe'aps,
It ain't all glory for a bloke',
It ain't all corfee 'ot and stoo,
Nor wavin' banners in the smoke,
Or practisin' the bay'net stroke—
We has our little troubles, too!
Here's Trigger Ribb bin seein' red
'N' raisin' Cain because he had,
Back in the caverns iv his 'ead,
A 'oller tooth run ravin' mad.
Pore Trigger up 'n' down the trench
Was jiggin' like a blithered loan,
'N' every time she give a wrench
You orter seen the beggar blench,
You orter 'eard him play a toon.
The sullen shells was pawin' blind,
A-feelin' for us grim as sin,
While now 'n' then we'd likely find
A dizzy bomb come limpin' in.
But Trigger simply let 'er sizz.
He 'ardly begged to be excused.
This was no damn concern of his.
He twined a muffler round his phiz,
'N' fearful was the words he used.
Lest we be getting' cock-a-whoop
Ole 'Ans tries out his box of tricks.
His bullets all around the coop
Is peckin' like a million chicks.
But Trigger when they barks his snout
Don't sniff at it. He won't confess
They're on the earth—ignores the clout,
'N' makes the same old sung about
His brimmin' mug of bitterness.
They raided us there in the mud
One day afore the dead sun rose.
Me oath, the mess of stuff and blood
Would give a slaughterman the joes!
And when the scrap is past and done,
Where's Trigger Ribb? The noble youth
Has got his bay'net in a Hun,
While down his cheeks the salt tears run.
Sez he to me “Gorbli'—this tooth!”
A shell hoist Trigger in a tree.
We found him motherin' his jor.
“If this ache's goin' on,” sez he,
“So 'elp me, it'll spoil the war!”
Five collared Trigger on his perch,
They wired his molar to a bough,
Then give the anguished one a lurch,
'N' down he pitches. From that birch
His riddled tooth is hangin' now.
This afternoon it's merry 'ell;
Grenades is comin' by the peck;
A big gun times us true 'n well,
And, oh! we gets it in the neck.
They lick out flames hat reach a mile,
The drip of lead will never cease.
But Trigger's pottin' all the while;
He sports a fond 'n' foolish smile-
“Thank Gord,” he sez, “a bit of peace!”
Scheme | AXAABCBBC CCCCDXDDX CECEACXAC FGFGCXCCX CHCHIJIIJ KKKXLMLLM NONOPQPPQ |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 100111111 11010111 11010101 10111 11110101 1111101 1110001 110111 111010101 1101111 11010111 10010111 01011101 11011101 111011 110011101 1110101 1111101 0101111 0111111 11111101 0101110 11010101 1111101 11110111 11010111 11010111 11110101 11111111 11010101 1110101 11011111 11111101 11010101 11011101 1111100 11011001 1110111 11011101 110101 01011101 11010101 11111001 11110111 1111111 01110001 111111 1111111 11110101 11010111 11011101 11010101 11110111 1101111 1011101 0111101 01111111 01111001 11111101 01111101 111101 11011101 11110111 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 2,219 |
Words | 424 |
Sentences | 27 |
Stanzas | 7 |
Stanza Lengths | 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9 |
Lines Amount | 63 |
Letters per line (avg) | 26 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 233 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 60 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:12 min read
- 141 Views
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"Peace, Blessed Peace" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 2 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/9575/peace%2C-blessed-peace>.
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