Books--A Poem by Walter De La Mare

November's here; frosty mornings and clear starry nights. Chilly afternoons and a nippy wind--too cold to play outside. Once again, a perfect time to find a cozy little nook, and curl up with a good book.

Here is a charming poem that expresses a boy's love for books quite succinctly.

Books

Walter De La Mare

A boy called Jack, as I've been told

Would sit for hours--good as gold--

Not with a pie, like Master Horner,

And plums, for dainties, in his corner,

But silent in some chosen nook

And spell-bound--by a story-book!

Whether the dawn brought sun or rain,

Back to its pages he'd hasten again;

He had even wheedled from his Friends

A secret hoard of candle-ends,

And slumber far from his round head--

Would read, till dead of night--in bed!