And poor old Homer blind, blind, as a bat,
Ear, ear for the sea-surge, murmur of old men's voices: . . . .
What? like Sir _Richard_, rumbling, rough and fierce,
With ARMS, and GEORGE, and BRUNSWICK crowd the verse?
Rend with tremendous Sound your ears asunder,
With Guns, Drum, Trumpet, Blunderbuss & Thunder?
Or nobly wild, with _Budgell's Fire and Force,
Paint Angels trembling round his _falling horse_?
Sat. II i
and (Truth as sea surge)
_Truth_ breaks upon us with _resistless Day_. . . .
While _Expletives_ their feeble Aid _do_ join,
And ten low words oft creep in one dull line.
Eliot seems to have tried it occasionally:
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will no stay in place. . . .