In proper order, comforting our minds
With “here for history,” and “here one finds
To keep books straight themselves
We classified them thus: The history
Is statement of authentic facts
Swaying a pendulum: directed acts
That grow as long as men slave to be free.
And poetry is what’s inside those men,
A story of the growth of startled feeling
From start to finish. Words are a glass revealing
To our minds what eyes can only mean.
We made the sharp distinction broad; to cover
Printed words, to keep the shelves distinct.
Until our order crashed, was made extinct;
Could not produce the book most true to lover.
Helen HalseyAugust | 1937