Ballade Of Free Verse

Up to the end of the great QUEEN’S reign Pegasus proved a tractable steed; Verse was metrical, mostly sane; “Fleshly” singers who wished to exceed Seldom, however great was their need, Held that prosody was a crime. Critics were one and all agreed: “Poets will never abandon rhyme.”

Now, inspired by a high disdain, Grudging the past its rightful meed, Georgian minstrels, might and main, Urge that verse must be wholly freed Now and for ever from rules that lead Singers in chains to a jingling chime, Slaves of the obscurantist screed: “Poets will never abandon rhyme.”

MILTON and TENNYSON give them pain; MARINETTI’S the man they heed, Grim apostle of stress and strain, Noise, machinery, smell and speed. Yet the best of the British breed, Fighters who sing ’mid blood and grime, Lend new force to the ancient rede: “Poets will never abandon rhyme.”