Emblem of blasted hope and lost desire, <br />No finger ever traced thy yellow page <br />Save Time's. Thou hast not wrought to noble rage <br />The hearts thou wouldst have stirred. Not any fire <br />Save sad flames set to light a funeral pyre <br />Dost thou suggest. Nay,--impotent in age, <br />Unsought, thou holdst a corner of the stage <br />And ceasest even dumbly to aspire. <br /> <br />How different was the thought of him that writ. <br />What promised he to love of ease and wealth, <br />When men should read and kindle at his wit. <br />But here decay eats up the book by stealth, <br />While it, like some old maiden, solemnly, <br />Hugs its incongruous virginity!<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-on-an-old-book-with-uncut-leaves/
