When, as a boy, I went
To study in the Muses’ school,
One of them came to me, and took
Me by the hand, and all that day,
She through the work-shop led me graciously,
The mysteries of the craft to see.
She guided me
Through every part,
And showed me all
The instruments of art,
And did their uses all rehearse,
In works alike of prose and verse.
I looked, and paused awhile,
Then asked: “O Muse, where is the file?”
“The file is out of order, friend, and we
Now do without it,” answered she.
“But, to repair it, then, have you no care?”
“We _should_, indeed, but have no time to spare.”