I have a tendency to accumulate books.
It’s not that I set out to overstuff my shelves
Anymore than a rain-fed, overflowing brook
Decides to spread itself over the whole landscape.
At times all those volumes are difficult to look
At. But it’s really no worse than someone who collects seashells,
Scattering them around the rooms of their house for beauty’s sake,
Somehow their benign presence makes us feel that all is well.
I do not live up to the ideal of a life without possessions;
But a garden of many flowers is worthy of our attention,
And on a clear, moonless night the stars are a numberless profusion,
And drops of rain are a cloud of sound that feels like a resolution to the difficulties of our lives.
So for now I’ll keep all those books and continue contemplating every page;
Perhaps at some point in the future I will be able to disengage.