A thousand books my library Contains; And all are primed, it seems to me With brains. Mine are so few I scratch in thought My head; For just a hundred of the lot I`ve read. A hundred books, but of the best, I can With wisdom savour and digest And scan. Yet when afar from kin and kith In nooks Of quietness I`m happy with Sweet books. So as nine hundred at me stare In vain, My lack I`m wistfully aware Of brain; Yet as my leave of living ends, With looks Of love I view a hundred friends, My books.SourceThe script ran 0.009 seconds.
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