AT A BOOKSTALL

[ZaunköniG]

AT A BOOKSTALL

TRUE poet, I have lingered o'er thy page
With heart a-throb ; among the tattered books,
As one who, wandering idly through dim nooks,
Finds a rare flower at last, so, unknown mage,

I found thee on the vender's stall. The age
Rolled backward suddenly; 'mid amber stooks
Ruth gleaned again; in evening-glow the rooks
Round Camelot's towers swung. The unholy rage

Of the crass mart died from mine ears; and there
Dream-thralled, unheeding raucous cries, I stood
Seeing the morning flame o'er Ilion fair;

Beaked galleys, purple-sailed, spurned the wide flood
The Mgean burned; while Helen's sun-kissed hair
Caught the bright sheen as in a golden snood.