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Universities are turning out thousands of reporters. They are quite bright and they don't have to rhyme.

 

Mighty Sparrow

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Still haunted by Haiku, and tried my hand at it, but I fall pitifully short of the Wordsworthian touch. But failure in this realm turned my mind to an old enthusiasm of mine, the Welsh englyn. This verse form was derived by the Welsh from the inscriptions which their Roman conquerors put on tombs ... A good englym must have four lines, of ten, then six, syllables, the last two lines having seven syllables each. In the first line there must be a break after the seventh, eighth, or ninth syllable, and the rhyme with the second line comes at this break; but the tenth syllable of the first line must either rhyme or be in assonance with the middle of the second line. The last two lines must rhyme with the first rhyme in the first line, but the third or fourth line must rhyme on a weak syllable. Got that?

 

Robertson Davies

 

Now you who rhyme, and I who rhyme,
Have not we sworn it, many a time,
That we no more our verse would scrawl,
For Shakespeare he had said it all!

 

William Shakespeare

 

Don't talk about my moms yo, sometimes he rhyme quick sometimes he rhyme slow, or vise-versa. Whip up a slice o' nice verse pie, hit it on the first try, Villain...the worst guy.

 

Daniel Dumile

 

Much of the early engineering development of digital computers was done in universities. A few years ago, the view was commonly expressed that universities had played their part in computer design, and that the matter could now safely be left to industry. [...] Apart from the obvious functions of keeping in the public domain material that might otherwise be hidden, universities can make a special contribution by reason of their freedom from commercial considerations, including freedom from the need to follow the fashion.

 

Maurice Wilkes

 

A rhyme's
               …
a barrel of dynamite.
                              A line is a fuse
                                                    that's lit.
The line smoulders,
                              the rhyme explodes –
and by a stanza
                        a city
                                  is blown to bits.

 

Vladimir Mayakovsky