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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