MY thoughts beat out in sonnets while I walk, And every evening on the homeward street I find the rhythm of my marching feet Throbs into verses (though the rhyme may balk). I think the sonneteers were walking men: The form is dour and rigid, like a clamp, But with the swing of legs the tramp, tramp, tramp Of syllables begins to thud, and then -- Lo! while you seek a rhyme for @3hook@1 or @3crook@1 Vanished your shabby coat, and you are kith To all great walk-and-singers -- Meredith, And Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Keats, and Rupert Brooke! Free verse is poor for walking, but a sonnet -- O marvellous to stride and brood upon it! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CROSS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IN HOSPITAL: 3. INTERIOR by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY GEORGE MOSES HORTON, MYSELF by GEORGE MOSES HORTON TO JOHN DONNE (1) by BEN JONSON PENITENTIAL PSALM: 130. DE PROFUNDIS by THOMAS WYATT THE QUEEN'S RIDE; AN INVITATION by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH AFTER THE PLAY by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG |