Friends In Solitude
By Anonymous
My books, my friends in solitude,
Which never mar my quietude;
Whose silent voices gently speak
In the great thoughts I love to seek.
Such company I ever find
A help to stimulate my mind,
And stir the feelings of my heart.
Which rise above all formal art.
I love to think of them away.
When I from home may go to stay;
And hope again their face to see,
Ere many days shall come and flee.
They never, in a fitful mood,
Do speak or act in way that’s rude;
But always in a pleasant style.
They seem to greet me with a smile.
While things around me often change,
And take a course that is quite strange,
These friends are always of one mind.
And show a spirit mild and kind.
In books are treasures more than gold.
Great thoughts come down from minds of old,
Embalmed in forms that ever live,
And never cease their life to give.
How grand the monuments of mind!
Which leave all others far behind;
And shine with light that is sublime.
Lighthouses on the coasts of time.