Now that they see God face to face,
And have all attained to be poets, I hope?
'T is their holiday now, in any case.
Much they reek of your praise and you!
But the wronged great souls—can they be quit
Of a world where their work is all to do,
Where you style them, you of the little wit,
Old Master This and Early the Other,
Not dreaming that Old and New are fellows:
A younger succeeds to an elder brother,