human
Crashing on the railroads, Skimming on the seas, Bounding on the mountain-tops, Battling with the breeze. Roaming through the forest, Scampering on the plain, Never stopping, always going, Round and round again.
gpt
How very beautiful,--so poetical!
human
So suggestively peaceful,
gpt
Your own composition?
human
A mere _morceau_, replied my friend, modestly,
gpt
You should write poetry,
human
Think so? Well, I've had some notion at times, of trying my hand at an ode, or an epic, but, man, I find too many difficulties in the way. As to `feet,' now, I can't manage feet in poetry. If it were inches or yards, one might get along, but feet are neither one thing nor another. Then, rhyme bothers me. I've often to run over every letter in the alphabet to get hold of a rhyme--click, thick, pick, rick, chick, brick--that sort of thing, you know. Sentiment, too, is very troublesome. Either I put too much or too little sentiment into my verses; sometimes they are all sentiment together; not unfrequently they have none at all; or the sentiment is false, which spoils them, you know. Yes, much though I should like to be a poet, I must content myself with prose. Just fancy, now, my attempting a poem on Cyprus! What rhymes with Cyprus? Fyprus, gyprus, highprus, kyprus, lyprus, tryprus, and so on to the end. It's all the same; nothing will do. No doubt Hook would have managed it; Theodore could do anything in that way, but _I_ can't.
gpt
Most unfortunate! But for these difficulties you might have been a second Milton. You leave your wife behind, I suppose,
human
What! exclaimed my volatile friend, becoming suddenly grave,
gpt
Are bad puns allowed in the _Evergreen_?
human
Not unless excessively bad, returned my friend;
gpt
Well, now, Biquitous, said I,
human
In earnest, do you mean?
gpt
In earnest,
human
Well, then, said my friend,
gpt
Humph! said Nicholas,