MY thoughts beat out in sonnets while I walk, And every evening on the homeward street I find the rhythm of my marching feet Throbs into verses (though the rhyme may balk). I think the sonneteers were walking men: The form is dour and rigid, like a clamp, But with the swing of legs the tramp, tramp, tramp Of syllables begins to thud, and then -- Lo! while you seek a rhyme for @3hook@1 or @3crook@1 Vanished your shabby coat, and you are kith To all great walk-and-singers -- Meredith, And Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Keats, and Rupert Brooke! Free verse is poor for walking, but a sonnet -- O marvellous to stride and brood upon it! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INDIAN SUMMER by SARA TEASDALE SORROW by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE MORITURI SALUTAMUS [WE WHO ARE TO DIE SALUTE YOU] by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW EPITAPH ON THE ADMIRABLE DRAMATIC POET, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE by JOHN MILTON THE QUAKER GRAVEYARD by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL |