Prosody

Let me try to go by pioneering heroes' spirit That motored their antique tides of phrase, And treat rapt souls to a mild sublime ode, Forged to rhyme with old sonneteers' pace. Now where does a tottering novice start As he pens such a crystalline work of art, To honor champs in grave's dark repose, And regale pupil protégés in equal dose? Let me like Andrew Marvel swiftly pen Authentic tropes to the best of my ken; And as Shakespeare debug tart myths, That wit eschews meekest wordsmiths. And deal Wordsworth such fitting due As meets his laudable classical styles; And for Sidney weave echoing rhapsodies That tell masked sagas via metered guiles. I'll like Robert Frost's swiftly twined twists, Blame melancholia for path-splitting mists.