To My Books
Silent companions of the lonely hour,
Friends, who can never alter or forsake,
Who for inconstant roving have no power,
And all neglect, perforce, must calmly take,-
Let me turn to you; this turmoil ending
Which worldly cares have in my spirit wrought,
And, o'er your old familiar pages bending,
Refresh my mind with many a tranquil thought:
Till, haply meeting there, from time to time,
Fancies, the audible echo of my own,
'Twill be like hearing in a foreign clime
My native language spoken in friendly tome,
And with a sort of welcome I shall dwell
On these, my unripe musings, told so well.
~Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton, Sonnet VIII
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