Oliver Wendell Holmes: Всі вірші поета

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The Flaâneur

I love all sights of earth and skies,

From flowers that glow to stars that shine;

The comet and the penny show,

All curious things, above, below,

Hold each in turn my wandering eyes:

I claim the Christian Pagan's line,

Humani nihil, — even so, —

And is not human life divine?

Oliver Wendell Holmes

A Poem Dedication of the Pittsfield Cemetery

ANGEL of Death! extend thy silent reign!

Stretch thy dark sceptre o’er this new domain

No sable car along the winding road

Has borne to earth its unresisting load;

No sudden mound has risen yet to show

Where the pale slumberer folds his arms below;

No marble gleams to bid his memory live

In the brief lines that hurrying Time can give;

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Poem (Halleck monument dedication)

SAY not the Poet dies!

Though in the dust he lies,

He cannot forfeit his melodious breath,

Unsphered by envious death!

Life drops the voiceless myriads from its roll;

Their fate he cannot share,

Who, in the enchanted air

Sweet with the lingering strains that Echo stole,

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Martha

SEXTON! Martha's dead and gone;

Toll the bell! toll the bell!

Her weary hands their labor cease;

Good night, poor Martha,— sleep in peace!

Toll the bell!

Sexton! Martha 's dead and gone;

Toll the bell! toll the bell!

For many a year has Martha said,

Oliver Wendell Holmes

To an Insect

I love to hear thine earnest voice,

Wherever thou art hid,

Thou testy little dogmatist,

Thou pretty Katydid!

Thou mindest me of gentlefolks,--

Old gentlefolks are they,--

Thou say'st an undisputed thing

In such a solemn way.

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Deacon's Masterpiece Or, The Wonderful

Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,

That was built in such a logical way

It ran a hundred years to a day,

And then, of a sudden, it — ah, but stay,

I'll tell you what happened without delay,

Scaring the parson into fits,

Frightening people out of their wits, —

Have you ever heard of that, I say?

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Dorothy Q

GRANDMOTHER's mother: her age, I guess,

Thirteen summers, or something less;

Girlish bust, but womanly air;

Smooth, square forehead with uprolled hair;

Lips that lover has never kissed;

Taper fingers and slender wrist;

Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade;

So they painted the little maid.

Oliver Wendell Holmes

For the Moore Centennial Celebration

ENCHANTER of Erin, whose magic has bound us,

Thy wand for one moment we fondly would claim,

Entranced while it summons the phantoms around us

That blush into life at the sound of thy name.

The tell-tales of memory wake from their slumbers,—

I hear the old song with its tender refrain,

What passion lies hid in those honey-voiced numbers!

Oliver Wendell Holmes

My Aviary

THROUGH my north window, in the wintry weather,—

My airy oriel on the river shore,—

I watch the sea-fowl as they flock together

Where late the boatman flashed his dripping oar.

The gull, high floating, like a sloop unladen,

Lets the loose water waft him as it will;

The duck, round-breasted as a rustic maiden,

Paddles and plunges, busy, busy still.

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Daily Trials by a Sensitive Man

Oh, there are times

When all this fret and tumult that we hear

Do seem more stale than to the sexton's ear

His own dull chimes.

Ding dong! ding dong!

The world is in a simmer like a sea

Over a pent volcano, — woe is me

All the day long!

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Opening of the Piano

IN the little southern parlor of tbe house you may have seen

With the gambrel-roof, and the gable looking westward to the green,

At the side toward the sunset, with the window on its right,

Stood the London-made piano I am dreaming of to-night!

Ah me! how I remember the evening when it came!

What a cry of eager voices, what a group of cheeks in flame,

When the wondrous box was opened that had come from over seas,

With its smell of mastic-varnish and its flash of ivory keys!

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Promise

NOT charity we ask,

Nor yet thy gift refuse;

Please thy light fancy with the easy task

Only to look and choose.

The little-heeded toy

That wins thy treasured gold

May be the dearest memory, holiest joy,

Of coming years untold.

Oliver Wendell Holmes