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Dante Gabriel Rossetti - Between Ghent And Bruges
Work rating: Medium

AH yes, exactly so; but when a man 
Has trundled out of England into France 
And half through Belgium, always in this prance 
Of steam, and still has stuck to his first plan— 
Blank verse or sonnets; and as he began 
Would end;—why, even the blankest verse may chance 
To falter in default of circumstance, 
And even the sonnet miss its mystic span. 
Trees will be trees, grass grass, pools merely pools, 
Unto the end of time and Belgium—points 
Of fact which Poets (very abject fools) 
Get scent of—once their epithets grown tame 
And scarce. Even to these foreign rails—my joints 
Begin to find their jolting much the same.
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