This quiet dust was gentlemen and ladies
And lads and girls;
Was laughter and ability and sighing,
And frocks and curls;
This passive place a summer's nimble mansion,
Where bloom and bees
Fulfilled their oriental circuit,
Then ceased like these.
----------By Emily Bronte
I came to know of this poem from one of my favourite childhood books of all time, The Little Bookroom. It's a collection of whimsical little tales, bought from a sale of old library titles. The pages are yellow-ed and really fragile, but that just adds to its old-world charm. Sadly I no longer possess it. Does anyone get attached to their books like me? Even if I buy a new copy it won't have the same feeling. Besides, obscure titles like these are hard to find. I guess this parting is forever.
I've dreamt of visiting one of those quaint bookstores in a foreign country, slightly musty and tucked away in some obscure corner. Entering it will feel like I've found my own secret hideaway, where I can lose myself in rare novels or specialist books on art and design. Even better if I can build up my own collection of books in future. Every book will be one that I truly love and will reach for on a rainy night as I snuggle in bed.
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