Poems with rhymes of Rhyme Page #6

For, as became the festal time,
He cheer'd her heart with tender praise,
And speeches wanting only rhyme

All this rhyme
Is waste of time! "

That not the courteous lovers of old time
Were more content to rule themselves and wait,
Easing desire with discourse and sweet rhyme.

The quaking earth did quake in rhyme,
Seas ebbed and flowed in epic chime.

The stories of Youth, of the burden of Time,
And the death of Devotion,
Come back with the wind, and are themes of the rhyme

Then thou, whilst ageing in the pass of time,
Add fame to fame, and rhyme to gloried rhyme

Here goes, for a swim on the stream of old Time,
On those buoyant supporters, the blad­ders of rhyme.

But thou, O builder of enduring rhyme,
Thou shalt not pass! Thy fame in every clime

And with new-launchèd argosies of rhyme
Gilds and makes brave this sombreing tide of time.

Hills are steeper now and I'm
Sensitive to cold;
Lines are not so keen to rhyme . . .

Your taste rejects the glittering false sublime,
To sigh in metaphor, and die in rhyme.

What need of fields in some far clime
Where Heroes, Sages, Bards sublime,
And all that fetched the flowing rhyme

The music-kiss, crotchet and quaver time,
The kiss of rhyme;

Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme,
Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;
Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,

Oft, when mid such capricious chime,
Some transient fit of lofty rhyme

Disguised in a random, rollicking rhyme
Like a merry mummer of ancient time,

What is the true difference ’twixt Prose and Rhyme,
Since both may be beautiful, both be sublime?

To heights of hyaline sublime;
Melodious prose one must deplore,
And fetters of rebellious rhyme:

'All this rhyme
Is waste of time!'

The poets' age no longer sets their rhyme,
Now, in the sweep of country plots and roads,
Lermontov is rhymed with summertime,