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The Bibliomaniac's Bride
by Eugene Field (1850-1895)

The women-folk are like to books.---
   Most pleasing to the eye,
Whereon if anybody looks
   He feels disposed to buy.

I hear that many are for sale,---
   Those that record no dates,
And such editions as regale
   The view with colored plates.

Of every quality and grade
   And size they may be found,---
Quite often beautifully made,
   As often poorly bound.

Now, as for me, had I my choice,
   I 'd choose no folio tall,
But some octavo to rejoice
   My sight and heart withal,---

As plump and pudgy as a snipe;
   Well worth her weight in gold;
Of honest, clean, conspicuous type,
   And just the size to hold!

With such a volume for my wife
   How should I keep and con!
How like a dream should run my life
   Unto its colophon!

Her frontispiece should be more fair
   Than any colored plate;
Blooming with health, she would not care
   To extra-illustrate.

And in her pages there should be
   A wealth of prose and verse,
With now and then a jeu d'esprit,---
   But nothing ever worse!

Prose for me when I wished for prose,
   Verse when to verse inclined,---
Forever bringing sweet repose
   To body, heart, and mind.

Oh, I should bind this priceless prize
   In bindings full and fine,
And keep her where no human eyes
   Should see her charms, but mine!

With such a fair unique as this
   What happiness abounds!
Who---who could paint my rapturous bliss,
   My joy unknown to Lowndes!


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Page last updated: 21 January 1999
©1999, Richard J. Yanco