English poem
The Books I Ought To Read
by Abbie Farwell Brown (1871–1927)
On dusty shelves in serried ranks they stand, Reproachful thousands, quaint, and grave and great. My guilty conscience hears their mute commands, Yet day by day—they wait.
Their army grows more deadly every year; Their captain-names I cannot call to mind. A friend amid the order would, I fear, Be very hard to find.
But to a corner shelf by most forgot, I steal, and to my conscience pay no heed, With boon companions dear. Yet these are not The books I ought to read!