That’s this, in short: while it no doubt may be
Most pleasant for an author small to see
A fine edition of his work put out,
No man who’s sane can ever really doubt
That products of his brain and pen can live
Alone for that which they may haply give!
And though on vellum stiff the work appears,
It cannot live throughout the after-years,
Unless it has within its leaves some hint
Of something further than the style of print