Ballade Of Difficult Rhymes

WITH certain rhymes ’tis hard to deal; For ‘silver’ we have ne’er a rhyme. On ‘orange’ (as on orange peel) The bard has slipped full many a time. With ‘babe’ there’s scarce a sound will chime, Though ‘astrolabe’ fits like a glove; But, ye that on Parnassus climb, Why, why are rhymes so rare to Love?

A rhyme to ‘cusp,’ to beg or steal, I’ve sought, from evensong to prime, But vain is my poetic zeal, There’s not one sound is worth a ‘dime’: ‘Bilge,’ ‘coif,’ ‘scarf,’ ‘window’—deeds of crime I’d do to gain the rhymes thereof; Nor shrink from acts of moral grime— Why, why are rhymes so rare to Love?

To ‘dove’ my fancies flit, and wheel Like butterflies on banks of thyme. ‘Above’?—or ‘shove’—alas! I feel, They’re too much used to be sublime. I scorn with angry pantomime, The thought of ‘move’ (pronounced as muv). Ah, in Apollo’s golden clime Why, why are rhymes so rare to Love?