It stands in a winding street, A quiet and restful nook, Apart from the endless beat Of the noisy heart of Trade; There's never a spot more cool Of a hot midsummer day By the brink of a forest pool, Or the bank of a crystal brook In the maples' breezy shade, Than the book-stall old and gray. Here are precious gems of thought That were quarried long ago, Some in vellum bound, and wrought With letters and lines of gold; Here are curious rows of "calf," And perchance as Elzevir; Here are countless "mos" of chaff, And a parchment folio, Like leaves that are cracked with cold, All puckered and brown and sear. In every age and clime Live the monarchs of the brain: And the lords of prose and rhyme, Years after the long last sleep Has come to the kings of earth And their names have passed away, Rule on through death and birth; And the thrones of their domain Are found where the shades are deep In the book-stall old and gray. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEGY ON THYRZA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE DESERTED HOUSE by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE THE AEOLIAN HARP by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE WHERE SHALL THE BABY'S DIMPLE BE? by JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND ECHO by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI NELL COOK; A LEGEND OF THE 'DARK ENTRY': THE KING'S SCHOLAR'S STORY by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |