A Student

A youth was there, of quiet ways,
A Student of old books and days,
To whom all tongues and lands were known,
And yet, a lover of his own;
With many a social virtue graced,
And yet a friend of solitude;
A man of such a genial mood
The heart of all things he embraced,
And yet of such fastidious taste,
He never found the best too good.
Books were his passion and delight,
And in his upper room at home
Stood many a rare and sumptuous tome,
In vellum bound, with gold bedight,
Great volumes garmented in white,
Recalling Florence, Pica, Rome.
He love the twilight that surrounds
the border-land of old romance;
Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance,
And banner waves, and trumpet sounds,
And ladies ride with hawk on wrist,
And mighty warriors sweep along,
Magnified by the purple mist,
The dusk of centuries and of song.
The chronicles of Charlemagne,
Of Merlin and the Mort d"Arthure,
Mingled together in his brain
With tales of Lores and Blanchefleur,
Sir Ferumbras, Sir Eglamour
Sir Launcelot, Sir Morgadour,
Sir Guy, Sir Bevis, Sir Gawain.

From "Tales of A Wayside Inn"
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow