Classic Poem

" FINIS at last — the end, the End, the End !
No more of paragraphs to prune or mend;
No more blue pencil, with its ruthless line,
To blot the phrase " particularly fine " ;
No more of " slips, " and " galleys, " and " revises, "
Of words " transmogrified, " and " wild surmises " ;
No more of n 's that masquerade as u 's,
No nice perplexities of p's and q's;
No more mishaps of ante and of post ,
That most mislead when they should help the most;
No more of " friend " as " fiend, " and, " warm " as " worm " ;
No more negations where we would affirm;
No more of those mysterious freaks of fate
That make us bless when we should execrate;
No more of those last blunders that remain
Where we no more can set them right again:
No more apologies for doubtful data;
No more fresh facts that figure as Errata;
No more, in short, O T YPE , of wayward lore
From thy most un -Pierian fount — NO MORE !"
So spoke P APYRIUS . Yet his hand meanwhile
Went vaguely seeking for the vacant file,
Late stored with long array of notes, but now
Bare-wired and barren as a leafless bough; —
And even as he spoke, his mind began
Again to scheme, to purpose and to plan.

There is no end to Labour 'neath the sun;
There is no end of labouring — but One;
And though we " twitch [or not] our Mantle blue,"
" To-morrow to fresh Woods, and Pastures new."