"The pencil that once freely traced the line Along the ruler’s straight and even side— The blade that shaped the reed-pen’s edges fine— The ruler too, the hand’s unswerving guide— The rugged pumice-stone, whose rasping kiss Sharpened the blunted reed-pen’s double lip— The sponge, uptorn from Neptune’s deep abyss, To cleanse the text from accidental slip— The desk of many cells, that did contain His ink, and all materials of his trade— The scribe to Hermes gives. After long strain, Palsied by age, his hand to rest is laid."