Archive for April, 2009
Hiawatha’s Photographing
[In an age of imitation, I can claim no special merit for this
slight attempt at doing what is known to be so easy. Any fairly
practised writer, with the slightest ear for rhythm, could compose,
for hours together, in the easy running metre of 'The Song of
Hiawatha.' Having, then, distinctly stated that I challenge no
attention in the following little poem to its merely verbal jingle,
I must beg the candid reader to confine his criticism to its
treatment of the subject.]
From his shoulder Hiawatha
Took the camera of rosewood,
Made of sliding, folding rosewood;
How Doth The Little Crocodile…
How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!
How cheerfully he seems to grin
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in,
With gently smiling jaws!
Poeta Fit, Non Nascitur
“How shall I be a poet?
How shall I write in rhyme?
You told me once ‘the very wish
Partook of the sublime.’
Then tell me how! Don’t put me off
With your ‘another time’!”
The old man smiled to see him,
To hear his sudden sally;
He liked the lad to speak his mind
Enthusiastically;
And thought “There’s no hum-drum in him,
Nor any shilly-shally.”
“And would you be a poet
Before you’ve been to school?
Ah, well! I hardly thought you
So absolute a fool.
First learn to be spasmodic -
A very simple rule.
“For first you write a sentence,
And then you chop it small;
