. Lyrics from a library . So, though no Midas magic handsTo gold transmute my barren sands,Though friendly Fame deign not to layAbout my brows the vine and bay,Though fond eyes marry not with mine,Nor lip to lip give sacred sign,The core of all content I know,A blessing that is balm for woe;On life with level gaze I look,And all because I love—a book!

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