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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508660" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Stamp Collector</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My worldly wealth I hoard in albums three,<br>My life collection of rare postage stamps;<br>My room is cold and bare as you can see,<br>My coat is old and shabby as a tramp's;<br>Yet more to me than balances in banks,<br>My albums three are worth a million francs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I keep them in that box beside my bed,<br>For who would dream such treasures it could hold;<br>But every day I take them out and spread<br>Each page, to gloat like miser o'er his gold:<br>Dearer to me than could be child or wife,<br>I would defend them with my very life.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They are my very life, for every night<br>over my catalogues I pore and pore;<br>I recognize rare items with delight,<br>Nothing I read but philatelic lore;<br>And when some specimen of choice I buy,<br>In all the world there's none more glad than I.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Behold my gem, my British penny black;<br>To pay its price I starved myself a year;<br>And many a night my dinner I would lack,<br>But when I bought it, oh, what radiant cheer!<br>Hitler made war that day - I did not care,<br>So long as my collection he would spare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Look - my triangular Cape of Good Hope.<br>To purchase it I had to sell my car.<br>Now in my pocket for some sous I grope<br>To pay my omnibus when home is far,<br>And I am cold and hungry and footsore,<br>In haste to add some beauty to my store.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This very day, ah, what a joy was mine,<br>When in a dingy dealer's shop I found<br>This franc vermillion, eighteen forty-nine . . .<br>How painfully my heart began to pound!<br>(It's weak they say), I paid the modest price<br>And tremblingly I vanished in a trice.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But oh, my dream is that some day of days,<br>I might discover a Mauritius blue,<br>poking among the stamp-bins of the quais;<br>Who knows! They say there are but two;<br>Yet if a third one I should spy,<br>I think - God help me! I should faint and die. . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Poor Monsieur Pns, he's cold and dead,<br>One of those stamp-collecting cranks.<br>His garret held no crust of bread,<br>But albums worth a million francs.<br>on them his income he would spend,<br>By philatelic frenzy driven:<br>What did it profit in the end. . . <br>You can't take stamps to Heaven.</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=508660" data-title="Stamp Collector de Robert William Service" data-description="My worldly wealth I hoard in albums three,
My life collection of rare postage stamps;
My room is cold and bare as you can see,
My coat is old and shabby as a tramp's;
Yet more to me than balances in banks,
My albums three are worth a million franc..."></div>
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