Jazzoctopus:
wordcrazy, I see your sonnet sonnet, and I raise you another:

Jazzoctopus,
I am not a good gambler, I do not know when to fold so here's another from Wordsworth again:

SCORN NOT THE SONNET

Scorn not the sonnet; critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honors; with this key
Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's woundl
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camoens soothed an exile grief;
The sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned
His visionary brow; a glow-worm lamp,
It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faeryland
To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul-animating strains--alas, too few!


chronist