Still I Love to Rhyme
STILL I love to rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander
Far from the commoner way;
Old—time trills and falls by the brook—side still do I ponder,
Dreaming to—morrow to—day.
Come here, come, revive me, Sun—God, teach me, Apollo,
Measures descanted before;
Since I ancient verses, I emulous follow,
Prints in the marbles of yore.
Still strange, strange, they sound in old—young raiment invested,
Songs for the brain to forget —
Young song—birds elate to grave old temples benested
Piping and chirruping yet.
Thoughts? No thought has yet unskilled attempted to flutter
Trammelled so vilely in verse;
He who writes but aims at fame and his bread and his butter,
Won with a groan and a curse.
