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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=390855" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Boccaccio</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">One day upon a topmost shelf<br>I found a precious prize indeed,<br>Which father used to read himself,<br>But did not want us boys to read;<br>A brown old book of certain age<br>(As type and binding seemed to show),<br>While on the spotted title-page<br>Appeared the name 'Boccaccio.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'd never heard that name before,<br>But in due season it became<br>To him who fondly brooded o'er<br>Those pages a belovèd name!<br>Adown the centuries I walked<br>Mid pastoral scenes and royal show;<br>With seigneurs and their dames I talked--<br>The crony of Boccaccio!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Those courtly knights and sprightly maids,<br>Who really seemed disposed to shine<br>In gallantries and escapades,<br>Anon became great friends of mine.<br>Yet was there sentiment with fun,<br>And oftentimes my tears would flow<br>At some quaint tale of valor done,<br>As told by my Boccaccio.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In boyish dreams I saw again<br>Bucolic belles and dames of court,<br>The princely youths and monkish men<br>Arrayed for sacrifice or sport.<br>Again I heard the nightingale<br>Sing as she sang those years ago<br>In his embowered Italian vale<br>To my revered Boccaccio.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And still I love that brown old book<br>I found upon the topmost shelf--<br>I love it so I let none look<br>Upon the treasure but myself!<br>And yet I have a strapping boy<br>Who (I have every cause to know)<br>Would to its full extent enjoy<br>The friendship of Boccaccio! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But boys are, oh! so different now<br>From what they were when I was one!<br>I fear my boy would not know how<br>To take that old raconteur's fun!<br>In your companionship, O friend,<br>I think it wise alone to go<br>Plucking the gracious fruits that bend<br>Wheree'er you lead, Boccaccio.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So rest you there upon the shelf,<br>Clad in your garb of faded brown;<br>Perhaps, sometime, my boy himself<br>Shall find you out and take you down.<br>Then may he feel the joy once more<br>That thrilled me, filled me years ago<br>When reverently I brooded o'er<br>The glories of Boccaccio!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Eugene+Field">Eugene Field</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=390855" data-title="Boccaccio de Eugene Field" data-description="One day upon a topmost shelf
I found a precious prize indeed,
Which father used to read himself,
But did not want us boys to read;
A brown old book of certain age
(As type and binding seemed to show),
While on the spotted title-page
Appeared the n..."></div>
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