Where now the reviews and the votes? Where is the discussion that was blooming?
Where is the nice and the critical, and the helpful tips flowing?
Where is the hand on the rudder, and the attention glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall stories growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the past behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the votes of the plagiarists burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the authors returning?