This charming poem by Guy W. Green originally appeared in The Philatelic Era in 1892.

To an Old Album

Guy W. Green

You’re battered, and old and faded,
And sadly in need of repair;
You show in your deeply-frayed edges
The narks of continuous wear;
Your pages, ‘though not of the cleanest,
Show through where the cover is torn;
And the back, which has long done its duty,
Is wrinkled, and weakened, and worn.

And yet, as you lie on my table
With look that’s supremely forlorn,
I wonder if ever within you
A wish for a voice has been born.
I smile as I think of the stories
That you in your power could tell,
Of tyro, collector and dealer
Who purchase and barter and sell.

Perhaps you could tell me of seasons
When, sadly bewildered by Love,
I left you alone in the attic,
Untouched in the darkness above.
Methinks you would speak of occasions
When, needless of vows I had said,
I hurried away from the auction –
In my pocketbook “nary a red.”

You’re old in experienced hardship,
Yet nobly you’ve served in your place;
You’ve passed through reverses and triumphs
With self-contained ease and grace.
No friend has been closer or dearer
Than you who have stood by my side
When fortune benign smiled upon me,
Or when her good will she denied.

Your trouble you’ve borne uncomplaining,
Withdraw from the turmoils of life;
Take refuge awhile from your hardships,
And slumber away from the strife,
Until you awake in that kingdom
Where burdens are all laid aside,
And shine forth supremely resplendent,
Unequalled by those at your side.