Books - Poem by Eleanor Farjeon
What worlds of wonder are our books!
As one opens them and looks,
New ideas and people rise
In our fancies and our eyes.
The room we sit in melts away,
And we find ourselves at play
With some one who, before the end,
May become our chosen friend.
Or we sail along the page
To some other land or age.
Here's our body in the chair,
But our mind is over there.
Each book is a magic box
Which with a touch a child unlocks.
In between their outside covers
Books hold all things for their lovers.
Comments about Books by Eleanor Farjeon
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl