The Library Ideal

Before age has sulked upon my brow
And youth is still wet upon my nape
I intend to search out the library ideal
The secret understanding of gentlemen- able
Where knowledge is lord
Poetry is king and words are pathways
Down orchards and groves
Through blossomed learnings
Under knotted branches of aesthetic leanings
The smell of alcohol mixed with leather
Of dust and books and lusty looks
Surrounded by a lifetime of collecting lives
Upon old sofas with knees and minds touching
Laughter being born and dying together
This Library ideal, that welcome distraction
From all things that matter less
A place where horizons are reached
And logic pauses to be reformed
Where a soft kiss can mean more than Alexandria's fire
And a sweet embrace wipes blank every page
Within every book

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