TO MY BOOKS. <br /> <br />SILENT companions of the lonely hour, <br />Friends, who can never alter or forsake, <br />Who for inconstant roving have no power, <br />And all neglect, perforce, must calmly take,-- <br />Let me return to YOU; this turmoil ending <br />Which worldly cares have in my spirit wrought, <br />And, o'er your old familiar pages bending, <br />Refresh my mind with many a tranquil thought: <br />Till, haply meeting there, from time to time, <br />Fancies, the audible echo of my own, <br />'Twill be like hearing in a foreign clime <br />My native language spoke in friendly tome, <br />And with a sort of welcome I shall dwell <br />On these, my unripe musings, told so well.<br /><br />Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-viii-12/
