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?
ENVOI
Prince of the lute and lyre, reveal
New rhymes, fresh minted, from above,
Nor still be deaf to our appeal.
Why, why are rhymes so rare to Love?