Page 27 - Poetry-Books

I’ve varied departments
To give my books shelter;
Shelves, open apartments
For tomes helter-skelter;
There are artisans’ flats, fit
For common editions,—
I find them, as that’s fit,
Good wholesome positions.

But books that I cherish
Live under glass cases;
In the waste lest they perish
I build them oases;
Where gas cannot find them,
Where worms cannot grapple,
Those panes hold behind them
My eye and its apple.

And here you see flirting
Fine folks of distinction:
Unique books just skirting
The verge of extinction;
Old texts with one error
And long notes upon it;
The “Magistrates’ Mirror”
(With Nottingham’s sonnet);

Tooled Russias to gaze on,
Moroccos to fondle,
My Denham, in blazon,
My vellum-backed Vondel,
My Marvell,—a copy
Was never seen taller,
My Jones’s “Love’s Poppy,”
My dear little Waller;

My Sandys, a real jewel!
My exquisite “Adamo!”
My Dean Donne’s “Death’s Duel!”
My Behn (naughty madam O!);
Ephelia’s! Orinda’s!
Ma’am Pix and Ma’am Barker! —

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