Poem by Henry Austin Dobson

* * *

You bid me try, blue-eyes, to write
A Rondeau. What! - forthwith? - tonight?
Reflect. Some skill I have, 'tis true; But thirteen lines! - and rimed on two! 'Refrain' as well. Ah, Hapless plight!

Still, there are five lines - ranged aright.
These Gallic bonds, I feared, would fright
My easy Muse. They did, till you - You bid me try!

That makes them eight. The port's in sight -
'Tis all because your eyes are bright!
Now just a pair to end in 'oo' - When maids command, what can't we do? Behold! - the rondeau, tasteful, light,
You bid me try! 

1. On the Future of Poetry
2. When Burbadge Played
3. For a Copy of Theocritus
4. The Forgotten Grave
5. O Fons Bandusae

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