The blissed high surge a metrical design
can April into almost any line
regales the blood, and therefore merits praise--
as do the least of all the other ways
that sounds can help a poet make his words
woods scatteredly lit up with hidden birds.

But poems at their best
find higher wheres than anything
that auditory techniques can triumph to:
wheres rich and wrong enough
to slow one's senses into
final intersections
with richer, deeper intimations
of what received reality
keeps us from.

I don't much like "and therefore merits praise," and I'm not sure of "regales the blood," though I love the rhyme of "bood" with "blissed"--the rim-rhyme, that is, which, for me, is a full rhyme. I do think the poem is getting somewhere.

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