The poets sang to lyre or pipe,
When Homer (say) threw off his little piece,
Nobody put the thing in type;
Even in days less barbarously rude
Virgil, it seems, was never interviewed.
And how did Dante manage to indite
His admirable tale of Hell,
Or Buonarroti sculp his sombre "Night"
Without the kodak's magic spell—
No Press-photographer, a dream of tact,