| Poem: |
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!
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