Having spent a portion of this gorgeous late May day in the cool sunshine of an alfresco cantina where shadows danced on the bar while I slurped down a mahi taco and a couple of session IPAs, I have turned my back on the blue skies overhead and retreated into my ill-lit drafty garret to listen to “Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands.” The song takes up the entire side of the second record of Blonde on Blonde. It’s an eleven minute and twenty-three second paean for a lover, perhaps Joan Baez, maybe ex-wife Sara^[1]

I still love the song, despite no longer being a romantic in the Percy Byssshe Shelly sense, because the lyrics are so well-crafted that they can almost stand alone naked on a page without musical accompaniment. 

Dylan is the master of the AAAAAAB rhyme scheme, a rarity both in poetry and song lyrics. Dig this: 

Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child’s balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying.[^2]

“Sad Eyed Lady” consists of four quatrains with an AAAB rhyme scheme, with a chorus appearing after every second quatrain. (see below)

As I listened to the song on my iMac, I read the lyrics, and much to my delight, I discovered for the first time that in the last line of each quatrain, the penultimate word rhymes with the penultimate word of the previous quatrain.

With your mercury mouth in the missionary times
And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes
And your silver cross, and your voice like chimes
Oh, who among them do they think could bury you?

With your pockets well protected at last
And your streetcar visions which you place on the grass
And your flesh like silk, and your face like glass
Who among them do they think could carry you?

See and hear for yourself. (I’ve bolded the penultimate words).

With your mercury mouth in the missionary times
And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes
And your silver cross and your voice like chimes
Oh, who do they think could bury you?

With your pockets well-protected at last
And your streetcar visions which you place on the grass
And your flesh like silk and your face like glass
Who could they get to carry you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I put them by your gate

Or sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheets like metal and your belt like lace
And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace
And your basement clothes and your hollow face
Who among them did think he could outguess you?

With your silhouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the moonlight swims
And your matchbook songs and your gypsy hymns
Who among them would try to impress you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I put them by your gate,
Or sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

The kings of Tyrus, with their convict list
Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss
And you wouldn’t know it would have happened like this
But who among them really wants just to kiss you?

With your childhood flames on your midnight rug
And your Spanish manners and your mother’s drugs
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs
Who among them do you think could resist you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate,
O sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, they all did decide
To show you where the dead angels are that they used to hide
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
How could they ever mistake you?

They wished you’d accepted the blame for the farm
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm
And with the child of the hoodlum wrapped up in your arms
How could they ever have persuaded you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man’s come
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheet metal memory of Cannery Row
And your magazine husband who one day just had to go
And your gentleness now, which you just can’t help but show
Who among them do you think would employ you?

Now you stand with your thief, you’re on his parole
With your holy medallion in your fingertips now enfold
And your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul
Who among them could ever think he could destroy you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

---

^[1] I did have a galley-review of Elijah Wald’s Dylan Goes Electric appear on the massive Dylan site Hard Rain but no comments or emails were forthcoming from the future Nobel laureate. 

^[2] On the song “Sara<” he writes ” Stayin’ up for days in the Chelsea Hotel/
Writin’ “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands” for you.”

^[3] “It’s Alright, Ma, I’m Only Bleeding.”