On The Hurry Of This Time -- Henry Austin Dobson

(Poem #1900) On The Hurry Of This Time With slower pen men used to write, Of old, when "letters" were "polite"; In Anna's or in George's days, They could afford to turn a phrase, Or trim a struggling theme aright. They knew not steam; electric light Not yet had dazed their calmer sight; - They meted out both blame and praise With slower pen. Too swiftly now the Hours take flight! What's read at morn is dead at night: Scant space have we for Art's delays, Whose breathless thought so briefly stays, We may not work - ah! would we might! - With slower pen. -- Henry Austin Dobson

I remember, back in the nineties when email was just beginning to be
widespread, the flood of articles lamenting the inevitable demise of the
handwritten letter, and the creeping soullessness of the casually dashed-off
email that was replacing it. Come the next decade, and that has been
succeeded by laments for the inevitable demise of the printed book, and its
replacement by soulless e-books, expedient audiobooks and mindless
television. It's rather amusing, then, to read today's poem, and realise
that the hastier time Dobson was writing about was 1882.  Plus ça change,
plus c'est la même chose.

martin

Biography:
  English poet, 1840-1921
  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Austin_Dobson