IN A LIBRARY.
A precious, mouldering pleasure ‘t is
To meet an antique book,
In just the dress his century wore;
A privilege, I think,
His venerable hand to take,
And warming in our own,
A passage back, or two, to make
To times when he was young.
His quaint opinions to inspect,
His knowledge to unfold
On what concerns our mutual mind,
The literature of old;
What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran
When Plato was a certainty.
And Sophocles a man;
When Sappho was a living girl,
And Beatrice wore
The gown that Dante deified.
Facts, centuries before,
He traverses familiar,
As one should come to town
And tell you all your dreams were true;
He lived where dreams were sown.
His presence is enchantment,
You beg him not to go;
Old volumes shake their vellum heads
And tantalize, just so.
Emily Dickinson. Life
I love those magic moments. The visit to the library, the quest for the discovery of the books I am looking for, the questions to the librarian and the delicate choice I have to make between Whitman, Apollinaire or Dickinson…
Well, this week I bring Emily Dickinson into my life.
The other precious moment I really enjoy is when I celebrate my Odyssey at the coffee shop. Allongé simple is delicious for this pause café. After what, I just let my hands and my eyes go through this perfect object we call book for a while. The first lines, first chapter goes and goes…
I will need another cup.
This is my Pause Café préférée.
Do you like this kind of pause café?