Small imp of blackness, off at once...

By Frederick Locker-Lampson

Small imp of blackness, off at once,

Expend thy mirth as likes thee best:

Thy toil is over for the nonce;

Yes, “opus operatum est.”

When dreary authors vex thee sore,

Thy Mentor’ s old, and would remind thee

That if thy griefs are all before,

Thy pleasures are not all behind thee.