I NOW delight In spite Of the might And the right Of classic tradition, In writing And reciting Straight ahead, Without let or omission, Just any little rhyme In any little time That runs in my head; Because, I've said, My rhymes no longer shall stand arrayed Like Prussian soldiers on parade That march, Stiff as starch, Foot to foot, Boot to boot, Blade to blade, Button to button, Cheeks and chops and chins like mutton. No! No! My rhymes must go Turn 'ee, twist 'ee, Twinkling, frosty, Will-o'-the-wisp-like, misty; Rhymes I will make Like Keats and Blake And Christina Rossetti, With run and ripple and shake. How pretty To take A merry little rhyme In a jolly little time And poke it, And choke it, Change it, arrange it, Straight-lace it, deface it, Pleat it with pleats, Sheet it with sheets Of empty conceits, And chop and chew, And hack and hew, And weld it into a uniform stanza, And evolve a neat, Complacent, complete, Academic extravaganza! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOUGLAS, DOUGLAS, TENDER AND TRUE by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK THE VOICE OF THE BANJO by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE WRECK OF THE DEUTSCHLAND by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE MARTYRS OF THE MAINE by RUPERT HUGHES ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER by JOHN KEATS THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS by RUDYARD KIPLING THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. ADVICE TO THE STOUT by JOHN ARMSTRONG |