Explore "The Mother of Poets. To H. F. H" by Bliss Carman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The typewriter ticketh no more in the twilight; / The mother of poets is sitting alone; / Only the katydid teases the noonday; / Where are the good-for-naught wanderbirds flown?
Tom's in the North with his purple impressions; / Dickon's in London a-building his fame; / Fred's in the mountains a-minding his cattle; / Kavanagh's teaching and preaching and game.