Ex Libris

IN an old book at even as I read

Fast fading words adown my shadowy page,

I crossed a tale of how, in other age,

At Arqua, with his books around him, sped

The word to Petrarch; and with noble head

Bowed gently o’er his volume that sweet sage

To Silence paid his willing seigniorage.

And they who found him whispered, “He is dead!”

Thus timely from old comradeships would I

To Silence also rise. Let there be night,

Stillness, and only these staid watchers by,

And no light shine save my low study light—

Lest of his kind intent some human cry

Interpret not the Messenger aright.