Then why do ye prattle of promise,
And why do ye cry this poet's young
And will give us more anon?
For he that hath written a song
Hath made life's clod a flower,
What question of short or long?
As the big earth is summed in a violet,
All Beauty may lie in a two-lined stave.
Let the clever ones write commentaries in verse.
As for us, we give you texts,