The Conservative (Lovecraft)/July 1919/The Joy of Books
The Joy of Books
By Arthur Goodenough
When suns are dim and skies are grey,
And clouds obscure and blur the day,
When flow’rs are few and fields are brown,
And lifeless leaves in gusts whirl down;
When radiant Summer’s gorgeous dress
Gives place to rags and nakedness,
And wreck and refuse choke the brooks,
I love to lose myself in books!
And too, when Nature lies asleep,
And over earth the snow falls deep,
And all the bliss and bloom of old
Is slain and silenc’d by the cold;
When hope is low and ev’rywhere
The winds the restless grief declare,
And all the future loveless looks,
I love to sink myself in books!
And when these inner moods of mine
The tempest and the cold combine,
And envy, hatred, and deceit
Have brought about my worst defeat;
When all my hopes in ruins lie,
And Fortune makes me no reply,
And men forbid me with their looks—
Naught soothes me like the charm of books!
