A precious Mouldering lyrics

by

Emily Dickinson


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
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