Old Rhythm and Rhyme by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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They tell me new methods now govern the Muses, / The modes of expression have changed with the times; / That low is the rank of the poet who uses / The old-fashioned verse with intentional rhymes. / And quite out of date, too, is rhythmical metre; / The critics declare it an insult to art. / But oh! the sweet swing of it, oh! the clear ring of it, / Oh the great pulse of it, right from the heart, / Art or no art.

I sat by the side of that old poet, Ocean, / And counted the billows that broke on the rocks; / The tide lilted in with a rhythmical motion; / The sea-gulls dipped downward in time-keeping flocks. / I watched while a giant wave gathered its forces, / And then on the gray granite precipice burst; / And I knew as I counted, while other waves mounted, / I knew the tenth billow would rhyme with the first.

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