Poems (Piatt)/Volume 1/The Dead Book

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4617669Poems — The Dead BookSarah Piatt

THE DEAD BOOK.
Ah, from the yellow pages Time has torn
The wonder-pictures seen by clearer eyes,
And from the withered words the soul is worn!
. . . Kiss the Dead Book, and leave it where it lies.

Kiss the Dead Book, and leave it in its place——
Youth's breathless bloom and dusty dreams among.
I read, where shining poems show no grace,
This dreary line, "You are no longer young."