The Books I cannot hope to buy, Their phantoms round me waltz and wheel; They pass before the dreaming eye, Ere sleep the dreaming eye can seal. A kind of literary reel They dance; how fair the bindings shine! Prose cannot tell them what I feel- The books that never can be mine! There frisk editions rare and shy, Morocco clad from head to heel; Shakespearian quartos; Comedy As first she flashed from Richard Steele; And quaint De Foe on Mrs. Veal; And, lord of landing net and line, Old Izaak with his fishing creel,- The books that never can be mine! Incunables! for you I sigh, Black letter, at thy founts I kneel; Old tales of Perrault's nursery, For you I'd go without a meal! For books wherein did Aldus deal And rare Galliot du Pré I pine. The watches of the night reveal The books that never can be mine! Envoy Prince, hear a hopeless bard's appeal; Reverse the rules of Mine and Thine; Make it legitimate to steal The books that never can be mine! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THIRTY BOB A WEEK by JOHN DAVIDSON SPOILS OF THE DEAD by ROBERT FROST PROMETHEUS by JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE THE DARK MAN by NORA (CHESSON) HOPPER EPIGRAMS: BOOK I, 1 by MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIALIS THE LOTOS-EATERS by ALFRED TENNYSON |