Читать книгу A line-o'-verse or two - Taylor Bert Leston - Страница 12

I hold it truth with him who sweetly sings —

The weekly music of the London Sphere—

That deathless tomes the living present brings:

Great literature is with us year on year.

Books of the mighty dead, whom men revere,

Remind me I can make my books sublime.

But prithee, bay my brow while I am here:

Why do we always wait for Death and Time?

Shakespeare, great spirit, beat his mighty wings,

As I beat mine, for the occasion near.

He knew, as I, the worth of present things:

Great literature is with us year on year.

Methinks I meet across the gulf his clear

And tranquil eye; his calm reflections chime

With mine: “Why do we at the present fleer?

Why do we always wait for Death and Time?”

The reading world with acclamation rings

For my last book. It led the list at Weir,

Altoona, Rahway, Painted Post, Hot Springs:

Great literature is with us year on year.

The Bookman gives me a vociferous cheer.

Howells approves! I can no higher climb.

Bring then the laurel, crown my bright career.

Why do we always wait for Death and Time?

Critics, who pastward, ever pastward peer,

Great literature is with us year on year.

Trumpet my fame while I am in my prime.

Why do we always wait for Death and Time?