My boord is books, lovod almost as myself ; IÍ bores, I put them on the upper shelf lf friends, I dally as a lover dallie Wühhis heart's choico in the sweet garden alleys, Where tbe rich vines to tangled riot run, And loBcioos peaches blush against thesun. Steadfast I find them here from day to da?, Drawn up Uko soldiei-s in their stanch array ; 1 open one; behold the traco oí tears Shed by somo heart it touched in vanished years; Some are new corners, and sroüe ehcerfully; Some are wtro old and sad by constancy; I love them all, the beaming faco or sad, ' Thoee that have made me weep, or made me glad, AU but the dull ones on the upper shelf , Them I would iain exchange for needed pelt. Somctimes I leave them, and go calmly out To where hearts taster beat, where children shont, To teel the impulse of the eager erowd, And bear üraffic's babel, harah and loud; I test them as a man might test his wife, To teach her she is not the whole of Ufe; A schoolboy's trick it is, for soon I find IVe left my better seli, my heart, behind. The hnndred souls whom I go forth to meet Are strangers to me in the greedy street; The world seems nearest when my lamp is lit. And by its midnight glow I quiet sit; Volnmes with welcome greeting then look down, And night shuts out the noisy, restless town; Thls ia my haven, this my marriage bower, Wedded to my books and happy every hour.