a versifier at least he has no excuse
for an unmetrical line or an untrue rhyme.

To acquire facility in rhyming it is necessary to write much and to try
all styles of endings from the single rhyme to the triple. As good
practice as any will be found in the use of the French forms described
in Chapter VII.

But above all one must avoid the rhyming dictionary. When the verse
maker once gets the habit of referring to its pages there is more hope
for the amateur popular song writer than for him. Better to think half
an hour and get the right word one's self than to tread the primrose
path of the rhyming dictionary. It has one use, nevertheless, which is
perhaps allowable. There are certain words, such as "chimney," "scarf,"
"crimson," "window," "widow," and others which have no rhyme. To
ascertain whether a word belongs to this class or not the dictionary is
useful, though still a trifle dangerous.

Verse makers will rejoice to hear that "month," once a prominent figure
in this non-rhyming company, has fallen from the ranks. A new variety of
butterfly has been named the "monolunth."

IV

STANZA FORMS

CHAPTER IV

STANZA FORMS

Roughly speaking, the stanza in verse corresponds to the paragraph in
prose. It is a fixed division of the composition containing a certain
number of lines arranged in a certain rhyming order. Very often each
stanza contains a distinct and rounded thought, such as is found in a
paragraph, though this plan of construction is not universally followed
by any means. In sharp dramatic verse one must use a simple stanza form
built so that each thought ends with the last word of the last line. But
when the movement is languid the meter and stanza form may be more
intricate and it is sometimes best to let the thought flow from one
stanza to another without even the jerk of the period. The effect to be
produced is everything and should determine not only the stanza to be
used but the details of the treatment as well. The great poet can bend
any meter or stanza form to his use, as witness Thomas Hood with his
galloping stanzas in the "Bridge of Sighs," but an ordinary mortal must
produce his effects more obviously. The greater skill one has the
greater liberties one can take in his choice of materials, just as a
clever after-dinner speaker may say many things which from a less
tactful person would be deemed offensive. Thomas Hood can write his
dirges in dactylics with triple rhymes, but