Great verse not only turns but elevates,
Exciting rapture with its lyric spell,
Lifting one into lofty mental states
That only classic poems can compel.
The hum-drum verse that poetasters turn
To please the multitudes is destined for
Oblivion, while shapely lyrics earn
Repute posterity cannot ignore.
They’ve mastered that which is the highest art:
To seem as easily flowing as a stream,
As naturally rhythmic as a beating heart
With no apparent craft or covert scheme.
A Grecian urn, though molded, carved and fired
Will seem, in time, an artifact inspired.