Stuffy smell of mouldering leather,
Tattered arm-chairs, creaking doors,
Books that slovenly elbow each other,
Sown with children's scrawls and long
Worn out by contact with generations:
Tattered tramps displaying yourselves —
“We, though you broke our backs, did not complain.”
If I had my way,
I would take you out and bury you quickly,
Or give you to the clean fire.