Here lies           a          lost poet’s
 heart which died                 for want of rhyme.
 Though he fought its pull,          the lines don’t show it.
 Rhyme’s addictions he swore off,         Except for this last time.
 If your heart is filled with an older spirit     and bleeds lyrical laments,
 with words of ancient archaic origin        set to a romantic bent.
 If your humor laughs with Donne    in his flea-bitten puns,
 and your heart wrecks       with the Deutschland,
 if you retch        at Rossetti’s fruit,
and hear    Herbert’s lute,
Run!       Fly for your life!
Or       say goodbye
to silly rhyme,
just as I,
 and in
time
die
!

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