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20
SONGS OF THE ROAD
Thus in most repentant mood
Unhappy Peter Wilson stood,
When, with pompous face, self-centred,
Willoughby the critic entered—
He of whom it has been said
He lives a century ahead—
And sees with his prophetic eye
The forms which Time will justify,
A fact which surely must abate
All longing to reincarnate.
'Ah, Wilson,' said the famous man,
Turning himself the walls to scan,
'The same old style of thing I trace,
Workmanlike but commonplace.
Believe me, sir, the work that lives
Must furnish more than Nature gives.
"The light that never was," you know,
That is your mark—but here, hullo!
