Satires of Circumstance in Fifteen Glimpses VIII: In the St

He enters, and mute on the edge of a chair
   Sits a thin-faced lady, a stranger there,
   A type of decayed gentility;
   And by some small signs he well can guess
   That she comes to him almost breakfastless.
   "I have called -- I hope I do not err --
   I am looking for a purchaser
   Of some score volumes of the works
   Of eminent divines I own, --
  Left by my father -- though it irks
  My patience to offer them." And she smiles
  As if necessity were unknown;
  "But the truth of it is that oftenwhiles
  I have wished, as I am fond of art,
  To make my rooms a little smart,
  And these old books are so in the way."
  And lightly still she laughs to him,
  As if to sell were a mere gay whim,
  And that, to be frank, Life were indeed
  To her not vinegar and gall,
  But fresh and honey-like; and Need
  No household skeleton at all.