Inventory: 0
Points: 0.3
Mooched/given: 321/257
Pending mooch/give: 0/0
Mooch ratio: 1.26:1

Wishlist: 93
Feedback: +256
Smooches: 1
Charitable gifts: 10
Charity received: 6
Friends: 9
Cancelled requests: 26
Books receiving lost: 3
Books sending lost: 1
Rejected requests: 1

Will send: ask if not to my country
Joined: 2007/02/27
Last here: 1328 days ago
(possibly inactive)
Country: United States

Books in inventory: 0

INVENTORY >

Status message:
Please check my inventory - I prefer to send multiple books to the same person to save on shipping costs. At this point, I usually cannot afford to send books overseas, but please feel free to ask. My books are generally in good, readable condition, some are like new. I try to describe notable wear.

Home page:
http://home.hampshire.edu/~jcr00/reinhart.html

Bio:
Support your local library and your global bibliophile.

Bookshelf

I like to think that when I fall,
A rain-drop in Death's shoreless sea,
This shelf of books along the wall,
Beside my bed, will mourn for me.

Regard it ... Aye, my taste is queer.
Some of my bards you may disdain.
Shakespeare and Milton are not here;
Shelley and Keats you seek in vain.
Wordsworth, Tennyson, Browning too,
Remarkably are not in view.

Who are they? Omar first you see,
With Vine and Rose and Nightingale,
Voicing my pet philosophy
Of Wine and Song ... Then Reading Gaol,
Where Fate a gruesome pattern makes
And dawn-light shudders as it wakes.

The Ancient Mariner is next,
With eerie and terrific text;
Then Burns, with pawky human touch -
Poor devil! I loved him much.
And now a gay quartette behold:
Bret Harte and Eugene Field are here;
And Henley, chanting brave and bold,
And Chesterton, in praise of Beer.

Lastly come valiant Singers three;
To whom this strident Day belongs:
Kipling, to whom I bow the knee,
Masefield, with rugged sailor songs. ...
And to my lyric troupe I add
With grateful heart - The Shropshire Lad.

Behold my minstrels, just eleven.
For half my life I've loved them well.
And though I have no hope of Heaven,
And more than Highland fear of Hell,
May I be damned if on this shelf
Ye find a rhyme I make myself.

by Robert Service