Old tales of knights and honour I have turned:
sat at baronial tables, seen a hall –
through plots I’ve overheard – now rise, now fall –
spied cloistered sighs, felt pangs of lovers spurned;
breathed thin-high epic airs – watched cities burned,
while noble foes charged to the trumpet’s call –
yet there’s a volume I most prize of all,
within whose breathing leaves much more I’ve learned.
Though when it speaks I wonder what is meant –
a guileless language in its eyes I see –
wherein I trace the passions’ firmament;
she is my class – her face is nature’s key
to learning other volumes but augment –
she is this book – the heart’s academy.