Oliver Wendell Holmes: Всі вірші поета

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The Iron Gate

WHERE is this patriarch you are kindly greeting?

Not unfamiliar to my ear his name,

Nor yet unknown to many a joyous meeting

In days long vanished,— is he still the same,

Or changed by years, forgotten and forgetting,

Dull-eared, dim-sighted, slow of speech and thought,

Still o'er the sad, degenerate present fretting,

Where all goes wrong, and nothing as it ought?

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Living Temple

NOT in the world of light alone,

Where God has built his blazing throne,

Nor yet alone in earth below,

With belted seas that come and go,

And endless isles of sunlit green,

Is all thy Maker's glory seen:

Look in upon thy wondrous frame,—

Eternal wisdom still the same!

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Organ-Blower

DEVOUTEST of my Sunday friends,

The patient Organ-blower bends;

I see his figure sink and rise,

(Forgive me, Heaven, my wandering eyes!)

A moment lost, the next half seen,

His head above the scanty screen,

Still measuring out his deep salaams

Through quavering hymns and panting psalms.

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Silent Melody

"Bring me my broken harp," he said;

"We both are wrecks,— but as ye will,—

Though all its ringing tones have fled,

Their echoes linger round it still;

It had some golden strings, I know,

But that was long— how long!— ago.

"I cannot see its tarnished gold,

I cannot hear its vanished tone,

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The September Gale

I'M not a chicken; I have seen

Full many a chill September,

And though I was a youngster then,

That gale I well remember;

The day before, my kite-string snapped,

And I, my kite pursuing,

The wind whisked off my palm-leaf hat;

For me two storms were brewing!

Oliver Wendell Holmes

A Sentiment II

A TRIPLE health to Friendship, Science, Art,

From heads and hands that own a common heart!

Each in its turn the othersâ€™ willing slave,

Each in its season strong to heal and save.

Friendshipâ€™s blind service, in the hour of need,

Wipes the pale face, and lets the victim bleed.

Science must stop to reason and explain;

ART claps his finger on the streaming vein.

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Union and Liberty

FLAG of the heroes who left us their glory,

Borne through their battle-fields' thunder and flame,

Blazoned in song and illumined in story,

Wave o'er us all who inherit their fame!

Up with our banner bright,

Sprinkled with starry light,

Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore,

While through the sounding sky

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Evening By a Tailor

Day hath put on his jacket, and around

His burning bosom buttoned it with stars.

Here will I lay me on the velvet grass,

That is like padding to earthâ€™s meagre ribs,

And hold communion with the things about me.

Ah me! how lovely is the golden braid

That binds the skirt of nightâ€™s descending robe!

The thin leaves, quivering on their silken threads,

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Boys

HAS there any old fellow got mixed with the boys?

If there has, take him out, without making a noise.

Hang the Almanac's cheat and the Catalogue's spite!

Old Time is a liar! We're twenty to-night!

We're twenty! We're twenty! Who says we are more?

He's tipsy,— young jackanapes!— show him the door!

"Gray temples at twenty?"— Yes ! white if we please;

Where the snow-flakes fall thickest there's nothing can freeze!

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Voiceless

WE count the broken lyres that rest

Where the sweet wailing singers slumber,

But o'er their silent sister's breast

The wild-flowers who will stoop to number?

A few can touch the magic string,

And noisy Fame is proud to win them:—

Alas for those that never sing,

But die with all their music in them!

Oliver Wendell Holmes

A Poem For the AMA at New York, 1853

FOR THE MEETING OF THE AMERICAN MEDICAL ASSOCIATIONAT NEW YORK, MAY 5, 1853

I hold a letter in my hand,â€”Â

A flattering letter, moreâ€™s the pity,â€”Â

By some contriving junto planned,

And signed per order of Committee.

It touches every tenderest spot,â€”Â

My patriotic predilections,

My well-known-somethingâ€”Âdonâ€™t ask what,â€”Â

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Dorchester Giant

THERE was a giant in time of old,

A mighty one was he;

He had a wife, but she was a scold,

So he kept her shut in his mammoth fold;

And he had children three.

It happened to be an election day,

And the giants were choosing a king;

The people were not democrats then,

Oliver Wendell Holmes