371 <br /> <br />A precious—mouldering pleasure—'tis— <br />To meet an Antique Book— <br />In just the Dress his Century wore— <br />A privilege—I think— <br /> <br />His venerable Hand to take— <br />And warming in our own— <br />A passage back—or two—to make— <br />To Times when he—was young— <br /> <br />His quaint opinions—to inspect— <br />His thought to ascertain <br />On Themes concern our mutual mind— <br />The Literature of Man— <br /> <br />What interested Scholars—most— <br />What Competitions ran— <br />When Plato—was a Certainty— <br />And Sophocles—a Man— <br /> <br />When Sappho—was a living Girl— <br />And Beatrice wore <br />The Gown that Dante—deified— <br />Facts Centuries before <br /> <br />He traverses—familiar— <br />As One should come to Town— <br />And tell you all your Dreams—were true— <br />He lived—where Dreams were born— <br /> <br />His presence is Enchantment— <br />You beg him not to go— <br />Old Volume shake their Vellum Heads <br />And tantalize—just so—<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-precious-mouldering-pleasure/
