It’s paradoxical that verse that’s bound
Gives better access to what is profound
Than unconstructed verse that rambles free
Yet can’t induce enlightening ecstasy.
* * *
The agony and ecstasy of verse
That follows meter and fulfills a form
Is that the regimen of being terse
And measuring up to a demanding norm
Is liberating more than verse that’s “free”
To wander willfully beyond confines
Confronting endless possibility,
Unlike right here where sound with sense combines.
The requisite of meeting these conditions
Requires the poet’s mind be versatile,
Arranging sound and sense in apt positions
According to the regimented style.
And yet, for all that ingenuity,
The poem flows unforced, quite naturally.