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James Whitcomb Riley - To My Good Master
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In fancy, always, at thy desk, thrown wide,
    Thy most betreasured books ranged neighborly--
    The rarest rhymes of every land and sea
  And curious tongue--thine old face glorified,--
  Thou haltest thy glib quill, and, laughing-eyed,
    Givest hale welcome even unto me,
    Profaning thus thine attic`s sanctity,
  To briefly visit, yet to still abide
  Enthralled there of thy sorcery of wit,
    And thy songs` most exceeding dear conceits.
    O lips, cleft to the ripe core of all sweets,
    With poems, like nectar, issuing therefrom,
    Thy gentle utterances do overcome
  My listening heart and all the love of it!
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