Classic Poem

I.

TRIOLET .

While they write Triolets,
The masses are rising,
With curses and threats,
While they write Triolets
(How their anger it whets!);
Nor is it surprising,
While they write Triolets,
That the masses are rising.
II.

RONDEAU .

I N corsets laced, in high-heeled shoes,
Too fine a woodland way to choose,
With mincing step and studied strut,
Is this an English goddess? Tut —
Some masker from the Parlez-voos!
O Poet! thou of sinewy thews,
Wilt thou free ways and walks refuse,
To mince instead through paths close shut,
In corsets laced?
I cannot — for I've old-time views —
Follow the poet who pursues
The Rondeau, with its rabbit scut,
Or triumphs in a Triolet, but —
There may be those who like the Muse
In corsets laced!
III.

VILLANELLE .

J EAN P ASSERAT , I like thee well;
Thou sang'st a song beyond compare —
But I've not lost a tourterelle ,

Nor can I write a Villanelle!
Thou did'st; and for that jewel rare,
Jean Passerat, I like thee well.

Now many a twittering hirondelle
The plumes of thy lost dove would wear —
But I've not lost a tourterelle ,

Could not, indeed, true turtle tell, —
If real or mock I could not swear.
Jean Passerat, I like thee well,

True heart that would go " apres elle , " —
An aspiration I would share, —
But I've not lost a tourterelle ,

And am content on earth to dwell, —
There are some men they cannot spare!
Jean Passerat, I like thee well,
But I 've not lost a tourterelle!