As torture.

I wandered lonely as a cloud, aiight [sic!].

We all know that blasted poem about daffodils by Wordsworth. We can’t remember it exactly, but we know that there’s some lonely cloud and a host of golden daffodils. It’s the dictionary definition of nature as banality. Now there’s a rap version. Sorry, crap version. I always forget the silent ‘c’.

“Wordsworth’s Daffodils poem has remained unchanged for 200 years,” said a spokeswoman for the Cumbria tourist board.

Well spotted, madam. I’m sure if Wordsworth hadn’t been dead for 157 years, he would’ve been revising it constantly.

Meanwhile, the hack who wrote the article is damned if he’s going to be outdone by a spokeswoman from the Cumbria tourist board, and says

Wordsworth, for example, never slipped in the neat dactyl: “Check it!”

That’s a trochee. Duh! Now if it was “bakery”, then it’d be a dactyl. The sub-editor was obviously having a snooze again.


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