But man must light for man The fires no other can, And find in his own eye Where the strange crossroads lie.

Books fall open, you fall in, delighted where you've never been; hear voices not once heard before, reach world on world through door on door; find unexpected keys to things locked up beyond imaginings. What might you be, perhaps become, because one book is somewhere? Some wise delver into wisdom, wit, and wherewithal has written it. True books will venture, dare you out, whisper secrets, maybe shout across the gloom to you in need, who hanker for a book to read.

The decent docent doesn't doze; He teaches standing on his toes. His students dassn't doze and does, And that's what teaching is and was.

But man must light for man The fires no other can, And find in his own eye Where the strange crossroads lie.

Books fall open, you fall in, delighted where you've never been.

March is outside the door Flaming some old desire As man turns uneasily from his fire.

The high-ceilinged rooms, the little balconies, alcoves, nooks and angles all suggest sanctuary, escape, creature comfort. The reader, the scholar, the browser, the borrower is king.