Bright the light's new-fall stout,
bright the burnished volumes bount,
Drink the dust of centuries there
burn with patent leather flair.
Glancing rays off glistening jackets
dense contains their covetous facets
Drink the draught of rich men wise
Drink I through a thousand sighs.
Dear old Gladstone in his stacks
Upon my books his picture backs
19th century England fair,
21st century States my lair.
Dreams I dreamt when I was young
Dreams of books with tongues that sung,
Now I gaze on volumes rippling,
Shall I have some Yeats or Kipling?