Tuesday, February 1, 2011


To write heroic couplets just like Pope’s
Lies far beyond the scope of mortal hopes;
Should anyone’s fond dreams today incline
That way, he must invoke some power divine,
Some sylph-like Muse to whisper in his ear
The rhythms and the rhymes blest poets hear,
For nothing less than supernatural aid
Can make sounds march like Pope’s august parade.
Each two-line unit strides with easy force
Or prances with the cadence of a horse:
The first line sets you up for the surprise
Of how the second rhymes, which then complies,
And his whole frame is crafted sound and tight
For both the ear’s and eye’s amazed delight.