This storekeeper.
Back in the dusky depths of the old store
Are rows of books in sober black and brown;
Books for his town
That are not all volumes of sermons or hymns,
Or a “Garland of Sacred Poetry from Friend to Friend.”
(Does not some stern voice ask “Where will this end?”)
For here are books of perilous voyages, tales of human ways,
And human lives, and of the great, historic, coloured days
Of far-off empires ... Ah ... here are William Shakespeare’s mighty plays!