Poems with rhymes of Rhyme Page #10

You like a peaceful time;
I like the passion and surge of life,
You like its gentle rhyme.

And I remember home and the old time,
The winding river, the white moving rhyme,

Shall stiffen round my careless rhyme,
Who made the vagrant tracks may puzzle
The savants of the coming time;

Blood of our blood, in every clime!
Race of our race, by every sea!
To you we sing the Christmas rhyme,

Is pleasant; but one tires of scented time,
Cold sweet recurrence of accepted rhyme,

’Neath fairer gales to Indies more sublime,
Questing along the golden shores of Rhyme

We must search, if we'd banish the curse of our time,
For a mender of pots who's a maker of rhyme.

Just to ride post upon the wings of time
And kill a care, to friendship turned in rhyme.

Some carol of the banjo, to its measure keeping time;
Of viol or of lute some make a song.
My battered old accordion, you're worthy of a rhyme,

To Eastern India now, a richer clime,
Richer, alas! in everything but rhyme,

Did I not, amongst these thickets, weave my thoughts and passions into rhyme,
Trusting that the words were golden, hoping for the praise of after-time?

A scrap of paper with a rhyme
Scrawled upon it of summertime:

So you can understand, my boys, just from this little rhyme,
I'm a Murrumbidgee shearer, and one of the good old time.

And thinner all the time,
You know, as any feller will
On nothin' else but rhyme.

For much neglect. The act, if not the rhyme,
Will touch her heart, and lead her to the time

And we are fooled until made wise by Time.
Is not the obvious lesson something worth,
Lady? or have I wov'n an idle rhyme?

A now mesmerizing moment in time
Expending energy on words that rhyme

This youthly idle rhyme,
And day by day to me she cries,
Leave off these toys in time.

And rolling flood, and towering rock sublime,
If warrior deed or peasant's lowly tale
Of love or wo should fail to wake the rhyme,

If all the year was summer-time,
And all the aim of life
Was just to lilt on like a rhyme –