Oh, had I spent the hours I have spent
In wasted reading, on some wiser task,
I would not now be forced to humbly ask
My life which is departing where it went.
Uncounted days, over a book I bent
And did not leave its sober sight to bask
In others' company, but, like a mask,
Allowed it to obscure me. Oh, I sent
Away too many fond potential friends
To linger in the library with books,
And now I have no time to make amends.
I cannot pull time back from sheltered nooks
Where I sat reading; now my lost time lends
A poignancy to their despairing looks.
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