Give me the room whose every nook
Is dedicated to a book:
Two windows will suffice for air
And grant the light admission there,—
One looking to the south, and one
To speed the red, departing sun.
The eastern wall from frieze to plinth
Shall be the Poet’s labyrinth,
Where one may find the lords of rhyme
From Homer’s down to...
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Speak low—tread softly through these halls;
Here genius lives enshrined,—
Here reign, in silent majesty,
The monarchs of the mind.
A mighty spirit-host they come,
From every age and clime;
Above the buried wrecks of...