Volume 10 — WHY WAIT FOR DEATH AND TIME?

BY BERT LESTON TAYLOR

I hold it truth with him who weekly sings Brave songs of hope,—the music of "The Sphere,"— That deathless tomes the living present brings: Great literature is with us year on year. Books of the mighty dead, whom men revere, Remind me I can make my books sublime. But, prithee, bay my brow while I am here: Why do we ever wait for Death and Time? Shakespeare, great spirit, beat his mighty wings, As I beat mine, for the occasion near. He knew, as I, the worth of present things: Great literature is with us year on year. Methinks I meet across the gulf his clear And tranquil eye; his calm reflections chime With mine: "Why do we at the present fleer? Why do we ever wait for Death and Time?" The reading world with acclamation rings For my last book. It led the list at Weir, Altoona, Rahway, Painted Post, Hot Springs: Great literature is with us year on year. "The Bookman" gives me a vociferous cheer. Howells approves. I can no higher climb. Bring, then, the laurel: crown my bright career— Why do we ever wait for Death and Time? Critics, who pastward, ever pastward peer, Great literature is with us year on year. Trumpet my fame while I am in my prime: Why do we ever wait for Death and Time?