So this is a psalm of the waters,-- The wavering, wandering waters: With languages learned in the forest, With secrets of earth's lonely caverns, The mystical waters go by me On errands of love and of beauty, On embassies friendly and gentle, With shimmer of brown and of silver. (S. WEIR MITCHELL: _A Psalm of the Waters._ 1890.) Here, also, the final light syllable might be said to take the place of the missing initial syllable; but the structure of the verse, with the fact that the initial anapest is always truncated and that the final syllable is never accented, indicates that the verse as it stands is the norm of the poem--three-stress anapestic, with initial truncation and feminine ending. _Three-stress dactylic._ (Catalectic:) This is a spray the Bird clung to, Making it blossom with pleasure, Ere the high tree-top she sprung to, Fit for her nest and her treasure. (BROWNING: _Misconceptions_. 1855.) _Four-stress iambic._ (For specimens, see Part Two.) _Four-stress trochaic._ Maiden, crowned with glossy blackness, Lithe as panther forest-roaming, Long-armed naiad, when she dances, On a stream of ether floating. (GEORGE ELIOT: Song from _The Spanish Gypsy_, Book i. 1868.) Westward, westward Hiawatha Sailed into the fiery sunset, Sailed into the purple vapors, Sailed into the dusk of evening. (LONGFELLOW: _Hiawatha_. 1855.) Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you! Juno sings her blessings on you. (SHAKSPERE: Juno's Song in _The Tempest_, IV. i. ab. 1610.) (Catalectic:) On a day, alack the day! Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen, can passage find; That the lover, sick to death, Wish himself the heaven's breath. (SHAKSPERE: _Love's Labor's Lost_, IV. 3. ab. 1590.) Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful jollity, Quips and cranks and wanton wiles, Nods and becks and wreathed smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek. (MILTON: _L'Allegro_. 1634.) Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine? Or are fruits of Paradise Sweeter than those dainty pies Of venison? O generous food! Drest as though bold Robin Hood Would, with his maid Marian, Sup and bowse from horn and can. (KEATS: _Lines on the Mermaid Tavern_. 1820.) _Four-stress anapestic._ What I speak, my fair Chloe, and what I write, shows The difference there is betwixt nature and art: I court others in verse; but I love thee in prose: And they have my whimsies; but thou hast my heart.