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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=392918" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Word For It</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=392918" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">'Scorn not the sonnet.' Well, I reckon not,<br> I would not scorn a rondeau, villanelle,<br> Ballade, sestina, triolet, rondel,<br>Or e'en a quatrain, humble and forgot,<br>An so it made my Pegasus to trot<br> His morning lap what time he heard the bell; <br> An so it made the poem stuff to jell-<br>To mix a met.-an so it boil'd the pot.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=392918" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Oh, sweet set form that varies not a bit! <br> I taste thy joy, not quite unknown to Keats.<br> 'Scorn? ' Nay, I love thy fine symmetric<br> grace.<br>In sonnets one knows always where to quit,<br> Unlike in other poems where one cheats<br> And strings it out to fill the yawning<br> space.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Franklin+P.+Adams">Franklin P. Adams</a></strong></div>

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