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Typo: A Monthly Newspaper and Literary Review, Volume 4

Confessio Amantis

Confessio Amantis.

When do I love you most, sweet books of mine?
In strenuous morns, when o'er your leaves I pore
Austerely bent to win austerest lore,
Forgetting how the dewy meadows shine,
Or afternoons when honeysuckles twine
About the seat, and to some dreamy shore
Of old Romance, where lovers evermore
Keep blissful hours, I follow at your sign.
Yea, ye are precious then, but most to me
Ere lamplight dawneth, when low croons the Are
To whispering twilight in my little room,
And eyes read not, but sitting silently
I feel your great hearts throbbing deep in quire,
And hear you breathing round me in the gloom.

Richard Le Gallienne.