Moritz Steinschneider

IF I had known, dear Master, when of late

I held thy hand within my own to say

The thousand things I’d thought of on the way,

But sheer forgot for very awe to state;—

If I had known the summons was so near

And that thy presence never more would grace

The little room that was the trysting place

Of every scholar, booklover and seer

That came from North, from South, from East, and West

To call himself thy pupil and be blest—

I fain would have besought thee to allow

My unclean lips to kiss the wizard hand

That made of learning such a wonderland,

And lost its matchless cunning only now.