| Example | Term |
|---|
| Zing boom tararrel, ring out a song of good cheer | |
| And the dish ran away with the spoon. | |
| There was a Young Lady whose eyes,// Were unique as to colour and size;// When she opened them wide,// People all turned aside,// And started away in surprise. | |
| Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, | |
| But O heart! heart! heart!// O the bleeding drops of red,// Where on the deck my Captain lies,// Fallen cold and dead. | |
| Each beach beast thinks he's the best beast. | |
| The free bird leaps on the back of the wind// and floats downstream till the current ends// and dips his wings in the orange sun rays// and dares to claim the sky. | |
| I am a rock. I am an island. | |
| John Henry was a railroad man.// He worked from six 'till five,// 'Raise 'em up bullies and let 'em drop down,// I'll beat you to the bottom or die.'// John Henry said to his capta | |
| She lived her life like a candle in the wind, | |
| Cruising down 8th street Off-white Lexus Driving so slow (but BK, it's from Texas!!) | |
| | Example | Term |
|---|
| Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,// The droghte of March hath perced to the roote. | |
| And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. | |
| THE fog comes// on little cat feet.// It sits looking// over harbor and city// on silent haunches//and then moves on. | |
| I won't ask you why you're running and// I won't ask you if you care// But the subject's going to come up// Sooner or later, and it might as well be// Now that I'm thinking about i | |
| I heard a fly buzz when I died;// The stillness round my form// Was like the stillness in the air// Between the heaves of storm. | |
| The red blossom bends// and drips its dew to the ground.//Like a tear it falls | |
| The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,// The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,// The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,// An | |
| Just as Walt Whitman would say,// if he were with me today.....// There is a 'Song of Myself',// A song that sings of my internal wealth. | |
| Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout would not take the garbage out. | |
| My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;// Coral is far more red than her lips' red;// If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;// If hairs be wires, black wires grow on h | |
| I sat in the dark//Nursing my broken heart. | |
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