They lie in piles about my den,
The volumes which of old
Upon stout shelves were wont to stand,
Full oft their titles have been scanned
By visitors, who told
Me how they "loved" to read, but were,
Alas! without the time to spare.
I felt for these the lofty scorn
Which true booklovers know
Whenever mental weaklings blab!
And now my volumes to some drab,
Dull auction-room must go,
I can declare quite honestly
They've been as trusty friends to me.
At all times they were ready to
Pay tribute to my worth;
For years have they the rumour spread
That I'm remarkably "well read";
And I have known no dearth
Of admiration since the tip
They passed anent my scholarship.
They were indeed my dearest friends --
Those books I did not know
Sufficiently for then to e'er
Become a bore, and yet were there
To made a goodly show
And testify to all that I
Was full of aspirations high.
Though tomes with uncut pages are
Included in each pile,
I grieve not that they are unscanned;
I'm wise enough to understand
That for the classics I'll
Till death a vast respect retain
Which close acquaintance might have slain!
First published in The Bulletin, 6 May 1920
