Читать книгу The Book-Lovers' Anthology - Various - Страница 21

Table of Contents

Ye dear companions of my silent hours,

Whose pages oft before my eyes would strew

So many sweet and variegated flowers—

Dear Books, awhile, perhaps for ay, adieu!

The dark cloud of misfortune o'er me lours:

No more by winter's fire—in summer's bowers,

My toil-worn mind shall be refreshed by you:

We part! sad thought! and while the damp devours

Your leaves, and the worm slowly eats them through,

Dull Poverty and its attendant ills,

Wasting of health, vain toil, corroding care,

And the world's cold neglect, which surest kills,

Must be my bitter doom; yet I shall bear

Unmurmuring, for my good perchance these evils are.

J. H. Leigh Hunt.