The speaker is a devoted reader describing how completely books pull them in. The poem begins with a simple declaration that no one could keep them from reading, then lists the pleasures: the sound of turning pages, the stories full of wizards, battles and princesses, and the smell of both new and old books. The new ones smell crisp and chemical, while the old, yellowed pages smell comforting, like wood.
The imagery gets more personal as it goes on. The printed words are an "army of black characters" that somehow create colour, and the book becomes "another limb," something the speaker can't be separated from. Staying awake to keep reading shows how strong the pull is. By the end, time slips by unnoticed and the fictional world seems unwilling to let go.
The mood is warm, cosy and a little dreamy. The speaker feels affection and comfort, with just a hint of surrender to the story's spell.