Eyes dancing over falling lines I read
so deep so many meanings. Lovely page,
so bright, but teach me how to plant a seed,
to tend your gift to grow another age.
You inky beauty, teach me reading you,
and let me parse the poetry between
your smooth, soft, supple covers, and to do
such reading as ecstasy's never seen.
Oh love, but how to read between your lines,
and think but what attempting does to me?
To dare to trace their author's grand designs,
now would I not invite catastrophe?
Somehow there lives in me a fear of books,
although allured I am by longing looks.
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