The man who marks or leaves with pages bent

The volume that some trusting friend has lent,

Or keeps it over long, or scruples not

To let its due returning be forgot;

The man who guards his books with miser’scare,

And does not joy to lend them, and to share;

The man whose shelves are dust begrimed and few,

Who reads when he has nothing else to do;

The man who raves of classic writers, but

Is found to keep them with their leaves uncut;

The man who looks on literature as news,

And gets his culture from the book reviews;

Who loves not fair, clean type, and marginswide—

Or loves these better than the thought inside;

Who buys his books to decorate the shelf,

Or gives a book he has not read himself;

Who reads from priggish motives, or for looks,

Or any reason save the love of books—

Great Lord, who judgest sins of all degrees,

Is there no little private hell for these?