Friday, July 2, 2010


Long while I’ve dwelt among the beats and rhymes
Of classic verse by Chaucer, Spenser, Pope—
With Shakespeare’s, Milton’s, Marvell’s, Wordsworth’s chimes
Resounding in my ears and raising hope
That I might stride in their pentameters
And weave a stanza with exquisite skill
Until a kindred mystery occurs
And poetry appears that Time can’t kill.
Just as the dyer’s hand at last acquires
The color of the dye, so would I learn
By reverent absorption what inspires
A scintillating line and makes it burn,
And how to shape a couplet that endures
That I might claim: This is as good as yours.