free verse

Free Verse by Robert Graves

I now delight 

In spite 

Of the might 

And the right 

Of classic tradition, 

In writing 

And reciting 

Straight ahead, 

Without let or omission, 

Just any little rhyme

In any little time 

That runs in my head; 

Because, I’ve said, 

My rhymes no longer shall stand arrayed

Like Prussian soldiers on parade

That march, 

Stiff as starch, 

Foot to foot, 

Boot to boot, 

Blade to blade,

Button to button, 

Cheeks and chops and chins like mutton.

No! No! 

My rhymes must go 

Turn ’ee, twist ’ee,

Twinkling, frosty, 

Will-o’-the-wisp-like, misty;