Iambics march from short to long.
With a leap and a bound the swift Anapests throng. Could you stand upon Skiddaw, you would not from its whole ridge See a man who so loves you as your fond S.T. Colerige. Samuel Taylor Coleridge Today's piece is not so much a poem as an intellectual curiosity, a little poetic game that Coleridge amused himself with. Considered as a poem, it's a pretty poor example of the genre - indeed, the second verse, where he abandons his metrical experiments and segues into a poetic address to his son, is downright annoying. Still, the first verse is an interesting demonstration of poetic facility - the stitching together of various metres into a smooth poem is very neatly done, as is the way the name of each foot is fit into the scansion.