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.
(Henry Austin Dobson)
More Poetry from Henry Austin Dobson:
Henry Austin Dobson Poems based on Topics: Sense & Perception, Night, Light- A Dead Letter (Henry Austin Dobson Poems)
- The Sun-Dial (Henry Austin Dobson Poems)
- The Dance Of Death (Henry Austin Dobson Poems)
- A Gage D'Amour (Henry Austin Dobson Poems)
- A Familiar Epistle (Henry Austin Dobson Poems)
- An Epistle To An Editor (Henry Austin Dobson Poems)