It has always been common knowledge with people that I know that I am a collector of beautiful antique books. I'm not exactly sure what the reason is behind it. Maybe it is the way the pages feel. Maybe it's the way some older books seem to take on their own aroma. Maybe it is the history contained between the pages. People living in the previous centuries were so much different than we are today.
I love the smell of a library. It reminds me of elementary school and middle school when Mom would take us to the library. It was an extremly small building and they didn't have many books but I remember picking out a biography or two about people from history and enjoying feeding my brain.
Unfortunately those days are long gone. It feels like it has been a million years since I've stepped foot in a library. Maybe that needs to change.
My gift to you today... from one of my favorite poets.
All are architects of Fate,
Working in these wall of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.
Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.
For the structure that we raise,
Time is with material filled;
Our todays and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.
In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the gods see everywhere.
Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house where gods may dwell
Beautiful, entire, and clean.
Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble, as they seek to climb.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow