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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508506" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>My Library</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like prim Professor of a College<br>I primed my shelves with books of knowledge;<br>And now I stand before them dumb,<br>Just like a child that sucks its thumb,<br>And stares forlorn and turns away,<br>With dolls or painted bricks to play.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They glour at me, my tomes of learning.<br>&quot;You dolt!&quot; they jibe; &quot;you undiscerning<br>Moronic oaf, you make a fuss,<br>With highbrow swank selecting us;<br>Saying: &quot;I'll read you all some day' -<br>And now you yawn and turn away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Unwanted wait we with our store<br>Of facts and philosophic lore;<br>The scholarship of all the ages<br>Snug packed within our uncut pages;<br>The mystery of all mankind<br>In part revealed - but you are blind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;You have no time to read, you tell us;<br>Oh, do not think that we are jealous<br>Of all the trash that wins your favour,<br>The flimsy fiction that you savour:<br>We only beg that sometimes you<br>Will spare us just an hour or two.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;For all the minds that went to make us<br>Are dust if folk like you forsake us,<br>And they can only live again<br>By virtue of your kindling brain;<br>In magice print they packed their best:<br>Come - try their wisdom to digest. . . .&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Said I: &quot;Alas! I am not able;<br>I lay my cards upon the table,<br>And with deep shame and blame avow<br>I am too old to read you now;<br>So I will lock you in glass cases<br>And shun your sad, reproachful faces.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> * * * * * * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My library is noble planned,<br>Yet in it desolate I stand;<br>And though my thousand books I prize,<br>Feeling a witling in their eyes,<br>I turn from them in weariness<br>To wallow in the Daily Press.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For, oh, I never, never will<br>The noble field of knowledge till:<br>I pattern words with artful tricks,<br>As children play with painted bricks,<br>And realize with futile woe,<br>Nothing I know - nor want to know.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My library has windowed nooks;<br>And so I turn from arid books<br>To vastitude of sea and sky,<br>And like a child content am I<br>With peak and plain and brook and tree,<br>Crying: &quot;Behold! the books for me:<br>Nature, be thou my Library!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</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=508506" data-title="My Library de Robert William Service" data-description="Like prim Professor of a College
I primed my shelves with books of knowledge;
And now I stand before them dumb,
Just like a child that sucks its thumb,
And stares forlorn and turns away,
With dolls or painted bricks to play.

They glour at me, my ..."></div>
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