Classic Poem

Not yet ‘complete,’ old Friend, not yet!
What Imp of the Perverse could set
That fateful epithet before
A reader who must wish for more!

‘Complete,’ in truth, each piece may be
Seen in its several symmetry;
Complete as are the stones that gem
The rondure of the diadem.

But who of men shall so forecast
His latest as to call it last?
Or, if he make an end, be sure
'Tis not profanely premature?

None. For while yet we breathe and speak,
The Unachieved is still to seek;
Nor may the quest relax while Hope
Still hides in every horoscope!