"POET, sit and sing to me; Sing of how you make your rhymes, Tweedledum and tweedledee, I have tried it fifty times. When I have a perfect sense, Then I have imperfect sounds; Vice versa! Tell me whence You get both, I neither." "Zounds!" Cried the poet, "Don't you see Easy't is as rolling log, Holding eel or catching flea, Meeting friend or leaving grog! No such matter should annoy, Deep the poet never delves; Take care of the sense, my boy, And the sounds care for themselves." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO HORACE BUMSTEAD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 10 by EZRA POUND |