75: The Way We Live Now, 1875, by Anthony Trollope (1815–82)
A decade back—or maybe more—
I had a happy “Trollope Phase”;
I read his books—filled nights and days
With fiction I came to adore.
His novels—forty-seven—all
I read throughout my Trollope kick.
A favorite one is hard to pick,
But since I have to make a call,
I’ll go with this one—it has got
Americans—impressive wealth—
And love to please a lonely self—
An intricate and clever plot.
I miss my nights with Trollope now.
Though others came to take his place,*
They never can those years efface
When I before AT would bow!
*Thackeray, Eliot, Collins, etc.
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