Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. You can also use the up (↑) and down (↓) arrows to move a line one place at a time, or the top (⇑) and bottom (⇓) arrows to move a line directly to the top or bottom. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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And, doubt it who will, yet those two sounds were rhyming,
And hold melting rhymes as an insult to art,
Art or no art.
The tide lilted in with a rhythmical motion;
But everything spoken was told in unbroken
Art or no art.
And back in the woodland a little bird sang;
Oh the great pulse of it, right from the heart,
The modes of expression have changed with the times;
So rhythm I hail it, though critics assail it,
But oh! the sweet swing of it, oh! the clear ring of it,
The old-fashioned verse with intentional rhymes.
The sea-gulls dipped downward in time-keeping flocks.
And I knew as I counted, while other waves mounted,
For oh! the sweet swing of it, oh! the dear ring of it,
And counted the billows that broke on the rocks;
And nothing they said was didactic or terse;
That low is the rank of the poet who uses
And quite out of date, too, is rhythmical metre;
As out o'er the hill-tops they echoed and rang.
Oh! the strong pulse of it, right from the heart,
And then on the gray granite precipice burst;
I watched while a giant wave gathered its forces,
Below in the village a church bell was chiming,
They tell me new methods now govern the Muses,
I knew the tenth billow would rhyme with the first.
I sat by the side of that old poet, Ocean,
The Wind and the Trees fell to talking together;
The critics declare it an insult to art.
And beautiful rhyming and rhythmical verse.
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You've successfully reconstructed the poem! Your understanding of poetry and attention to detail is impressive.
They tell me new methods now govern the Muses, The modes of expression have changed with the times; That low is the rank of the poet who uses The old-fashioned verse with intentional rhymes. And quite out of date, too, is rhythmical metre; The critics declare it an insult to art. But oh! the sweet swing of it, oh! the clear ring of it, Oh the great pulse of it, right from the heart, Art or no art.
I sat by the side of that old poet, Ocean, And counted the billows that broke on the rocks; The tide lilted in with a rhythmical motion; The sea-gulls dipped downward in time-keeping flocks. I watched while a giant wave gathered its forces, And then on the gray granite precipice burst; And I knew as I counted, while other waves mounted, I knew the tenth billow would rhyme with the first.
Below in the village a church bell was chiming, And back in the woodland a little bird sang; And, doubt it who will, yet those two sounds were rhyming, As out o'er the hill-tops they echoed and rang.
The Wind and the Trees fell to talking together; And nothing they said was didactic or terse; But everything spoken was told in unbroken And beautiful rhyming and rhythmical verse.
So rhythm I hail it, though critics assail it, And hold melting rhymes as an insult to art, For oh! the sweet swing of it, oh! the dear ring of it, Oh! the strong pulse of it, right from the heart, Art or no art.