I love the parade of books: The long, fair lines of comrades, disciplined, orderly, Waiting the summons to give of their best, their all; The varied colors blending demurely, The shining verticals where the light rests on them, The parallel shadows where each meets the other. I love the differing texture of cloth, the rounded backs, The gold of the lettering, all the thoughtful adornings, The elegant richness of smooth and garnished leather. I love the dust that is on them, and envy its contact, Close, familiar, and long, through daylight and darkness, Resting in silence among my silent books. I love to sit there, and let my eyes gloat upon them, Caressing them with my eyes, from floor to ceiling, And over from wall to wall and beyond the doorway. And though the world beats upon me, and whips my spirit Weary from task to task, with no time for reading, I love to come and rest for a moment among them, And bathe my soul in the cloistered stillness, And rejoice my soul in the friendly glance of comrades, The loverly, quiet, reserved parade of books. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL by GEORGE GORDON BYRON BILL AND JOE by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE ROPEWALK by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THOUGHTS WHILE PACKING A TRUNK by CHRISTOPHER DARLINGTON MORLEY THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. THE GASTRIC MUSE by JOHN ARMSTRONG SPRING THOUGHTS by FLORENCE E. BALDWIN MASKS OF DEATH by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THEODORE ROOSEVELT by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 5 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |