A Pantoum

Woman Reading in an Interior

Maurice Louis Tete

Of Modern Books
(A Pantoum)

Of making many books there is no end, 

   Though myriads have to deep oblivion gone; 

Each day new manuscripts are being penned, 

   And still the ceaseless tide of ink flows on. 

Though myriads have to deep oblivion gone, 

   New volumes daily issue from the press; 

And still the ceaseless tide of ink flows on— 

   The prospect is disheartening, I confess. 

New volumes daily issue from the press; 

   My pile of unread books I view aghast. 

The prospect is disheartening, I confess; 

   Why will these modern authors write so fast? 

My pile of unread books I view aghast—

   Of course I must keep fairly up to date— 

Why will these modern authors write so fast? 

   They seem to get ahead of me of late. 

Of course I must keep fairly up to date; 

   The books of special merit I must read; 

They seem to get ahead of me of late, 

   Although I skim them very fast indeed. 

The books of special merit I must read; 

   And then the magazines come round again; 

Although I skim them very fast indeed, 

   I can’t get through with more than eight or ten. 

And then the magazines come round again! 

   How can we stem this tide of printer’s ink? 

I can’t get through with more than eight or ten— 

   It is appalling when I stop to think. 

How can we stem this tide of printer’s ink? 

   Of making many books there is no end. 

It is appalling when I stop to think 

   Each day new manuscripts are being penned!

                                                            Carolyn Wells