I PLEDGED my word this morning,
As I started down the street,
That not a single book I'd buy—
For me a wondrous feat.

As I wandered past the windows
Of the news-stands on the way,
With scarce a wish to purchase,
I my mandate could obey.

But temptation, ever ready
To hold her victims fast,
In the guise of an old book store,
Filled with relics of the past.

Dawned upon my willing vision,
And I thought she'll never mind
If I glance within a moment
And perhaps some treasure find.

Ah, behold how fortune teases,
What a glorious prize is here!
First edition, not a blemish,
Rare old volume of Shakespeare.

Ah, I pledged my word this morning,
And to keep it I will try,
But the gods will frown upon me
Should I let that chance pass by.

There on yonder shelf inviting
Rests a missal old and quaint,
Relic of the Gothic ages
Scanned by some mediæval saint;

Missal with the blazoned pages,
Triumph of the ancient art,
With your worn old vellum covers,
How you tempt my sinful heart!

Close beside it, dim and dusty,
Bearing imprint of the years
They have whirled along life's current,
Stand two priceless Elzevirs.

I pledged my word this morning,
But the keeping is too dear;
I would be far more than mortal,
Could I leave those volumes here.

Shades of bookmen who behold me,
Oh, forgive my perjured self;
You would leave your seat in glory
For a peep at yonder shelf.