For books that are lovely, dark and deep
but have promises to keep
and miles to go before they sleep
The library has a wee sign with the above words (apologies to R. Frost), hinting at the kind of books that might be found within.
It is nestled under cover of an enormous, climbing monstera deliciosa, beside a massive Turpentine tree, yet visible to walkers-by.
There are some first or famous lines from novels typed (yes, typed!) on tags that teasingly flutter, hung from twine around the library, ephemeral and doomed to destruction. These might spur investigations to discover the books whence they came.
Meanwhile a collection of books, from kids to cosmos, graphic Shakespeare to Journal of the Plague Year, await the reader, beckoned by the possibly-illegal Ironbark stump reading-stool.