(The Compendium Theologicae Veritatis and a poplar.)
These leaves spoke once to the live hearts of men
Words full of faith and wisdom; but to-day
More dead than drift in winter woods are they,
With less of power to wake and live again.
See through the window, green and silver-grey,
Like a sun-flecked and willow-shaded pool,
The poplar ripples, till the London day,
Dusty and hot, seems fresh once more and cool.
This printed page speaks from the past to me
Of creeds grown false, of thoughts long dead and vain.
When Nature turns her leaves, what do I see?
Life shines and whispers in that living tree,
Sweet as the sudden rush of evening rain.
"A peculiar anthologic maze, an amusing literary chaos, a farrago of quotations, a mere olla podrida of quaintness, a pot pourri of pleasant delites, a florilegium of elegant extracts, a tangled fardel of old-world flowers of thought, a faggot of odd fancies, quips, facetiae, loosely tied" (Holbrook Jackson, Anatomy of Bibliomania) by a "laudator temporis acti," a "praiser of time past" (Horace, Ars Poetica 173).
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Monday, May 07, 2012
From a Library Window
Arundell Esdaile (1880-1956), From a Library Window, in Poems and Translations (London: Elkin Matthews, 1906), pp. 37-38: