The sonnet is a trunk, and you must pack With care, to ship frail baggage far away: The octet is the trunk; sestet, the tray; Tight, but not overloaded, is the knack. First, at the bottom, heavy thoughts you stack, And in the chinks your adjectives you lay -- Your phrases, folded neatly as you may, Stowing a syllable in every crack. Then, in the tray, your daintier stuff is hid: The tender quatrain where your moral sings -- Be careful, though, lest as you close the lid You crush and crumble all these fragile things. Your couplet snaps the hasps and turns the key -- Ship to The Editor, marked C. O. D. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUNCHES OF GRAPES by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE SUMMER. THE SECOND PASTORAL, OR ALEXIS by ALEXANDER POPE HASCHEESH by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 16 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING FAMILIAR EPISTLES ON A SERMON, 'OFFICE & OPERATIONS OF HOLY SPIRIT': 4 by JOHN BYROM LATIGO TOWN by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. A MEDIC GATHERS MUSHROOMS FOR HIS LADY by GRACE STONE COATES |