Match each line of poetry to the type of meter it contains. My mother bore me in the
southern wild, Like Honus Wagner or
like Tyrus Cobb. The two were still but one, Is this a holy thing to see, 'Tis morning; and the sun
with ruddy orb The wind blew high,
the waters raved, It powders all the Wood. Nor for itself hath any
care,

Categories: iambic pentameter, iambic tetrameter, iambic trimester

please put all of the poetry lines into one of the three categories, the poetry lines are separated by