O! trust not to the horse, my Trojan Friends! Whate'er it means, it means but to deceive. I dread the Grecians even when they give. - Charles Symmons

Hard is the task, O Queen! that you impose,
To tear my bosom with reviving woes.

—————————— to death's abode
Prone lies the path, and facile is the road.
To all who seek them open day and night,
Pluto's black gates with broad access invite.
But to recall the foot, retrace the way
Up the dark steep, and re-assert the day—
This is the labor, this the mighty feat,
Achieved by few, the greatest of the great.

As it is generally seen, blank verse seems to be only a laborious and doubtful struggle to escape from the fangs of prose... if it ever ventures to relax into simple and natural phraseology, it instantly becomes tame and the prey of its pursuer.