I am a home of knowledge, both banal and profound.
In grand halls and small homes I can be found.
I am a home for things of many leaves,
but my many residents are not living trees.
What am I?
I am the black child of a white father, a wingless bird, flying even to the clouds of heaven. I give birth to tears of mourning in pupils that meet me, even though there is no cause for grief, and at once on my birth I am dissolved into air. What am I?
