He plunges on, with head upreared,—
As he had eaten witches’ herb,—
Raging his maddened way, unsteered.
He wants my fair word-pictures smeared
With thought laid on in polychrome!
Nay, we shall leave one fence uncleared;
I will not write a Cubist Pome!
He’d have me shape a lissome verb
Like a three-sided noun, ensphered!
He babbles of effects superb,