(TO F. G.) WITH slower pen men used to write, Of old, when 'letters' were 'polite'; In ANNA'S, or in GEORGE'S days, They could afford to turn a phrase, Or trim a straggling theme aright. They knew not steam; electric light Not yet had dazed their calmer sight; -- They meted out both blame and praise With slower pen. Too swiftly now the Hours take flight! What's read at morn is dead at night: Scant space have we for Art's delays, Whose breathless thought so briefly stays, We may not work -- ah! would we might! -- With slower pen. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET by DAVID HARTLEY COLERIDGE THE COUNTRY FAITH by NORMAN ROWLAND GALE THE HERON BALLADS: 1. FIRST BALLAD IN THROAT by ROBERT BURNS ONE PASSES BY by GLENN CLAIRMONTE L'ENVOI by SAMUEL VALENTINE COLE LAUGHING BONES by ALICE CARTER COOK |