Sunday, August 10, 2008

Classic Poetry: A Riddle (Hannah More, 1745-1833)

Hannah More, After the painting by H.W. Pickersgill, A.R.A.

I'm a strange contraction; I'm new, and I'm old,

I'm often in tatteres, and oft decked with gold.

Though I could never read, yet lettered I'm found;

Though blind, I enlighten; though loose, I am bound,

I'm always in black, and I'm always in white;

I'm grave and I'm gay, I am heavy and light--

In form too, I differ--I'm thick and I'm thin,

I've no flesh and bones, yet I'm covered with skin;

I've more points than the compass, more stops than the flute;

I sing without voice, without speaking confute.

I'm English, I'm German, I'm French, and I'm Dutch;

Some love me too fondly, some slight me too much;

I often die soon, though I sometimes live ages,

And no monarch alive has so many pages.


What am I?

To find out the answer,

highlight the following: A Book!!!!!!!!


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