Classic Poem

" PUBLISH soon," you used to say,
And pretend
That you could not bear delay,
Eager friend;
Now your taste can hardly brook
Just two pages of my book,
Ere you yawn, and turn to look
At the end.

Yet its verses are not new
And unknown,
All the duller ones to you
I had shown;
Then how carefully you'd note them,
In your pocket-book you wrote them,
With intent, perhaps, to quote them
As your own.

Aye, at parties then you passed
Them about;
On the interest you cast
Little doubt.
Now the book — no lengthy screed —
Takes you half a week to read,
Such enjoyment is indeed
Long drawn out.

As a lazy traveller lags
On his way;
Short the journey, yet he flags:
So you stay
For an hour or two to bait,
When you've barely passed the gate;
Yet 'twas you that would not wait