Emily Dickinson - In a Library | Текст песни

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• Emily Dickinson
• In a Library

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A precious-mouldering pleasure-'tis-

To meet an Antique Book-

In just the Dress his Century wore-

A privilege-I think-

His venerable Hand to take-

And warming in our own-

A passage back-or two-to make-

To Times when he-was young-

His quaint opinions-to inspect-

His thought to ascertain

On Themes concern our mutual mind-

The Literature of Man-

What interested Scholars-most-

What Competitions ran-

When Plato-was a Certainty-

And Sophocles-a Man-

When Sappho-was a living
Girl-
And Beatrice wore

The Gown that Dante-deified-

Facts Centuries before

He traverses-familiar-

As One should come to
Town-
And tell you all your Dreams-were true-
He lived-where Dreams were born-

His presence is Enchantment-

You beg him not to go-

Old Volume shake their Vellum Heads

And tantalize-just so-