Another poet’s birthday today. This time we have Francis Turner Palgrave, born in 1824. A friend of Tennyson and teacher of poor children, he may not have written much to remember today. Here’s the start of his poem, “Pro Mortuis.”
What should a man desire to leave?
A flawless work; a noble life:
Some music harmoniz’d from strife,
Some finish’d thing, ere the slack hands at eve
Drop, should be his to leave.
He’s rhyming of life with strife has become so popular, every beginning poet or songwriter does it at least a hundred times, calling for more English words ending in ife. (wife, knife, endrife, trife, shife, and other useful words.) Here are some of his other poems.
“Life” rhymed with “strife” is one of my betes noir. It can be done right (see the hymn, “Make Me a Captive, Lord”), but most poets and songwriters just throw in strife (when they really mean pain, or worry, or just quiet desperation) because they need a rhyme for “life.” A sure mark of an amateur.