Meanwhile the world, unmoved, went on;

New stars shot up, shone out, were gone;

Before his second volume came,

His critics had forgot his name:

And who, forsooth, is bound to know

Each laureate in embryo!

They tried and tested him, no less,

The pure assayers of the Press.

Said A.: “The author may, in time. . . .

Or much what B. had said of rhyme.