When on my books I cast affectionate eye

And see them patient in their ordered ranks,

Waiting to serve me in my every mood,

I find no lack of pleasant company.

And have no wish for the capricious pranks

Of those who would invade my solitude

With soul-less wails and wild cacophony.

For all these silent friends I render thanks,

And count myself well-honoured to be wooed

By such great minds.  Though orators may cry

And roar, though banner headlines thrust

Their rhetoric and bombast on our gaze,

All pass and fade, as fade the passing days;

The present glory is to-morrow’s dust !


Weekly Times     5.10.62