The rhyme and the stanza belong to the period of highly studied form. They are ornamental, and, like fine lace, the weaving of them calls for great skill if it is to be well done. They often express commanding thoughts and emotions, but the outstanding thing about them is their form. Of course, if their form were their only value they would still be worth while. We cannot get on without beauty. It is true, however, that in the case of formal rhymed verse, the thought and message cannot so easily be at their best. Thought must often be limited and truth stilted by the necessities of form. The free verse form offers an opportunity for the poet to break largely away from these narrowing limitations. It has been said that the prose writer is master of his materials while the poet is the slave of his style. Many a versifier has unintentionally fallen into a vein of grandiose expression which could hold little of sincerity and truth. The intermingling of prose and verse qualities which we find in free verse makes it possible for the poet to be true to the finer shades of his message and its meaning. He is not bound by any fixed necessities of rhyme and meter. This probably accounts for the fact that we have seen expressed in this form the most rugged sentiments and, at the same time, the most delicate shading of artistry. I once enjoyed a conversation with the late James Whitcomb Riley, wherein he spoke of the desirability of naturalness in poetry. “Poetry should not sound stilted and constrained,” he said, “but natural and sincere. It should run along the same even and normal course that a high grade of every-day conversation does. One should not say, ‛the rippling brook along.’ He should say, ‘along the rippling brook.’” One may notice in Mr. Riley’s work that the best of the poems he wrote during the period of his most serious work have just this quality. Consequently, they are rather free in their form. He does not break entirely away from rhyme and meter, but he does make them secondary. This kind of work seems to hold its place longest. Probably the reason is that the message and not the form is the immortal part. Out of the past we have preserved a few high-sounding poems for their lilt and rhythm, but they are few and probably will be long outlived by others sounding a more genuine note. If anything of their kind was produced in the days of Moses or David, it has long since perished. Yet the great sentiments that swelled from the souls of these men and burst from their lips are still treasured among us. After all, it does not seem to be to the advantage of the poet to be abjectly the slave of his style. He seems to be all the better remembered when he is the master of his materials.