Old shivering Julian in his musty shop
Smiled when I asked for thee, thou little book!
Full many a mouldy volume high a-top
His bulging shelves in many a dingy nook,

Down the damp, unlit, purgatorial aisle,
Lay pending doom; yet when of thee, O friend,
I spoke the name, old Julian's gentle smile,
Prompt answering, did his worth as prompt commend.

He fetched thee to the light with courtly grace
(His rusted foils hung near!) as fitted thee,
And up to earth with unaverted face
I bore thee swift, a safe Eurydice.

Now, in snow-paven cities where I moan,
Faint for the wandering breath of jasmine-blows,
Thou makest me a fair South of mine own,
With crystal fountains lulling to repose!