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[BKARTS] Response to Lament To A Book Binder

Response To A Lament:

The BookBinder Cometh
in her good time
Be ye faithful and rest
knowing the Muse guides
the binding hand
Should not a work of excellence
be worth the wait,
even as the maiden?s hair does grey,
and winter?s frost deepen?

As Seasons do they turn
so coins turn, from palm to palm
golden in the sun,
and When they drop
from thy purse
as apples drop in
bountiful harvest
Know thy book will
be come to thee.
Tell me not of your
overwrought spending,
when I spend bone and
finger and breath
without recompense
for your Reward.

As for slaying,
that choice be mine
for the frequency with which
seeking boots cross
the threshhold
Beware, for sharpened knives
rest atop my bench.
I would as soon slit paper
than flesh.
Begone, beggar,
and return when you
are sent for.

Beth Heller, aka pandorajune

(Wendy - if you see this, I think a certain Mr. Evans
might appreciate it!)

> Writing in 1898 Kenneth Grahame noted that:
> "As a general rule, the man in the habit of
> murdering bookbinders,
>   though he performs a distinct service to society,
> only wastes his own
>   time and takes no personal advantage"
> In 1904 he expanded on that thought, perhaps because
> some book had still
> not been completed/delivered:
> "Not in that he bindeth books - for the fair binding
> is the final crown
> and flower of painful achievement - but because he
> bindeth not: because
> the weary weeks lapse by and turn to months, and the
> months to years, and
> still the binder bindeth not: and the heart grows
> sick with hope deferred.
> Each morn the maiden binds her hair, each spring the
> honeysuckle binds
> the cottage porch, each autumn the harvester binds
> his sheaves, each
> winter the iron frost binds lake and stream, and
> still the binder bindeth
> not.
> Then a secret voice whispereth: 'Arise, be a man,
> and slay him!  Take him
> grossly, full of bread, with all his crimes
> broadblown as flush as May;
> at gaming, swearing, or about some act that hath no
> resish of salvation
> in it!'
> But when the deed is done, and the floor strewn with
> fragments of binder -
> still the books remain unbound..."
> Lament to a Bookbinder, 1904

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