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The Books I cannot hope to buy, Their phantoms round me waltz and wheel, They pass before the dreaming eye, Ere Sleep the dreaming eye can seal. A kind of literary reel They dance; how fair the bindings shine! Prose cannot tell them what I feel,-- The Books that never can be mine!
There frisk Editions rare and shy, Morocco clad from head to heel; Shakspearian quartos; Comedy As first she flashed from Richard Steele; And quaint De Foe on Mrs. Veal; And, lord of landing net and line, Old Izaak with his fishing creel,-- The Books that never can be mine!
Incunables! for you I sigh, Black letter, at thy founts I kneel, Old tales of Perrault's nursery, For you I'd go without a meal! For Books wherein did Aldus deal And rare Galliot du Pre I pine. The watches of the night reveal The Books that never can be mine!
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