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Chess is such a noble game,
How it does the soul inflame!
Ever brilliant, ever new,
Surely chess has not its due;
Sad to say, ‘tis known to few!
An acrostic poem by W. Harris, 1882
Charming as the sweetest music;
High above the common reach,
Easy to the bright and wise;
Splendid in the hands of genius’
Such the royal game of chess.
A double acrostic, with identical letters starting and
Ending each line. W. A. Balentine, 1878
A solver, who lived at Devizes,
Had won a great number of prizes-
A dual or cook,
He’d detect at a look.
And his head swelled up several sizes.
A limerick, from the Chess Amateur,
Like new-laid eggs, Chess Problems are,
Though very good, they may be beaten;
And yet, though like, they’re different far,
They may be cooked, but never eaten.
Poem by J.A. Miles, 1882