MAGIC IN THE WEB
A poem like a sonnet in set form
Might seem to keep the poet’s mind constrained;
Ironically it makes new notions swarm
As if by supernatural means ordained.
There’s magic in the web of the son-net:
The rhythm of the tight iambic line
Combines with where each line-end rhyme is set
To weave a spell of mystical design,
The poet—all the while enthralled, enrapt,
An instrument of powers beyond his ken
Revealing how his subject may adapt
To the exigencies that lead his pen—
At last is freed from this engaging charm,
Feeling sweet ecstasy and not alarm.