“
Books, books, books had found the secret of a garret-room
piled high with cases in my father’s name;
Piled high, packed large, —where, creeping in and out
among the giant fossils of my past, like some small nimble mouse
between the ribs of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there
at this or that box, pulling through the gap, in heats
of terror, haste, victorious joy, the first book first.
And how I felt it beat under my pillow, in the morning’s dark.
An hour before the sun would let me read!
My books! ”
piled high with cases in my father’s name;
Piled high, packed large, —where, creeping in and out
among the giant fossils of my past, like some small nimble mouse
between the ribs of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there
at this or that box, pulling through the gap, in heats
of terror, haste, victorious joy, the first book first.
And how I felt it beat under my pillow, in the morning’s dark.
An hour before the sun would let me read!
My books! ”
—
~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning ~
