All day I serve among the volumes telling
Old tales of love and war and high romance;
Good company, God wot, is in them dwelling,
Brave knights who dared to scorn untoward chance.
King Arthur—Sidney—Copperfield—the daring
And friendly souls of Meredith’s bright page—
The Pilgrim on his darksome journey faring,
And Shakespeare’s heroes, great in love and rage.
Fair ladies, too—here Beatricè smiling,
Through hell leads Dante to the happy stars;
And Heloise, the cruel guards beguiling,
With Abelard makes mock of convent bars.
Yet when night comes I leave these folks with pleasure
To open Love’s great summer-scented tome,
Within whose pages—precious beyond measure—
My own White Flower Lady hath her home.