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The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 07: Songs of Many Seasons

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62 pages
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Vol. 7, by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it,give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Vol. 7 Songs Of Many Seasons (1862-1874)Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.Release Date: September 30, 2004 [EBook #7394]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF HOLMES, VOL. 7 ***Produced by David WidgerTHE POETICAL WORKSOFOLIVER WENDELL HOLMES[Volume 2 of the 1893 three volume set]SONGS OF MANY SEASONS1862-1874OPENING THE WINDOW PROGRAMMEIN THE QUIET DAYS AN OLD-YEAR SONG DOROTHY Q: A FAMILY PORTRAIT THE ORGAN-BLOWER AT THE PANTOMIME AFTER THE FIRE A BALLAD OFTHE BOSTON TEA-PARTY NEARING THE SNOW-LINEIN WAR TIME TO CANAAN: A PURITAN WAR-SONG "THUS SAITH THE LORD, I OFFER THEE THREE THINGS" NEVER OR NOW ONE COUNTRY GOD SAVETHE FLAG! HYMN AFTER THE EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION HYMN FOR THE FAIR AT CHICAGO UNDER THE WASHINGTON ELM, CAMBRIDGEFREEDOM, OUR QUEEN ARMY HYMN PARTING HYMN THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY THE SWEET LITTLE MAN UNION AND LIBERTY SONGS OF WELCOME AND FAREWELL AMERICA TO RUSSIA WELCOME TO THE GRAND DUKE ALEXIS AT THE BANQUET TO THE GRAND DUKE ALEXIS AT THE BANQUET TO ...
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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Vol. 7, by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Vol. 7 Songs Of Many Seasons (1862-1874) Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. Release Date: September 30, 2004 [EBook #7394] Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF HOLMES, VOL. 7 ***
Produced by David Widger
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
[Volume 2 of the 1893 three volume set]
SONGS OF MANY SEASONS
1862-1874
NAO DLY-AE ROSGN THE QUIET DAYS WODNORP MARGNIEMOPINENTHG WIE IME NTOME PAT THREA LBWOAG-N EROTHT AITROR PLYMIAF A :Q YHTOROD HE SNOW-EARING TP-RAYTN TSNOT AETHOFBOE AL BD LAIF EA ERETFAHT RTHEEFER I OFRD, "SN IHGNEET T RHE ONW NOR  OEREVEVAS DOG YRTNUOCAR TIME LINEIN W:NA P RUOTC NAAAON-S"TG ANITAR WHT HOL E SUHTIASA  TAFRIGA OHCCIR THUNDESHINE WAMLE NOTGIRBMAC ,EDREEFDGR OU, OMHT ELFGA !YHNMA FTER THE EMANCIPOITARP NALCOITAM HONN YMR FOE THOS     YTREBIL DANN IOUNN MAE TL    LE LRAWEDNF ME AELCOOF WNGS NMYHEHT TRAP GNI HMYN YMEEQUARN EWTEL TIYTT EHS OF LIBER FLOWER ETQUAN BE THO  T        EHT TA      S   T TH   A DUDRGNAELIXEKA SSRU  IA            EMA ACIR OT RAND DUKE ALEXISEWCLMO EOTT EHG ETTIBIH  S'SENEV        DHTR  YA EMBASSYJAPANESE  RBAYTN        HE TAT           EHT OT TEUQNAB  THET TONQUEE BASAYSE BMENESC IHTNAR        oT   W HON LELGFW LO        TAA D NINER TO GENERAL GNNID A TDA OT REFAL RAMI  UTAGRREREW AAF OGALLT Z   ASSI   A     FBAARAHEMOMYRO ICES IN THE SERV SES ROFLAIRREV NSLIMOMEIELKOL C OIWTST T AO  A     G   NBEREHRE DEIRFTTOG NAITSRICHo  T        SHAKESPEARE TERCNAAUYR3 ,01 68 5ARDWEVD ETER JT:LUJE12 Y81 ,E 56ES, RVICRIDGCAMBMEROOCMM NESTAOI5 86 1N,E THR FOLOCNIL MOTSOB ,NM AT THE1869 POEEB R41 , ,ESTPMEMOK MENUHAHEECLL NOIT FODED TACIE CER THN FO HYM81968  ,UJYLTN , CHE TOFG INAY LEHT TA NOITARBELTAOI,NA RPLI2 ,3ENTENNIAL CELEBRJ FO NHORDNAREBO86 1IN4 EM MY ORH MU8146'T SOBDLRE, T WA25, MAY LEC LAINNOITARBEAYHDRTBIENNTCE: ENUF LAR TA  EHTFC ORLHARVSEESIC,RA RPLISES MUEN4     RH 29, 187 RUOH NA FO SEMYSSREDD A        INGNO EPT EHF ROH AVFIFTTHE  OF NEORSTR-E ON HOFAVRAM DRROME LAIHALL,CAMBRIDGE, COOTEB R,61 78 0OR FMNHYED DHE T NOITACIROMEM FOHALLIAL CAMB AT ,E1 IRGDYHNM78 4TH          ERRDO OT DEVRES MEOP  A         1873RE , NIPSOOTFOB         TID   MEHT ELO EEMITKIL      No UTH     NIO  FOY EOFNUAT        OSNAHC  A SEA   UEOGALDI8137Y  .         THEENUE, N.ATRE ,REPORPTEIR SROEN CNNTEL IANNDI        F ROT EHN WITHOUT MUSIC c pa ,ym,oLucesare mes  rhytive oot llA;gnos foexn ai vor ftelaarniB,aegu hymb t my wint againssemyaht soolhR.eg inroth ft,ttliLER' KELMERIS "AYHNMAC NINGNO"EP OMNHYA E,ACPEF  EHT OT FO CISUM so longShut aganitst ehf ilhg tHE TIN WWTDOS HUil It tfs eh,hsaide outss towindee?t dhsht erA eot nldorene id w?hguor ow eht sIy stick with tanrpiaesS?ahllt ehitcr'sicoi pnesodelgeef  nOt ehtnn y nusksi  yab thehallgs.Sstin deragus no deefy he tllha?Sysrac lorodehtg yayl,Some widow-paneonev demw !s htie,omla ain w,Sgsy  mngwighouo,?Gna ,rt dv deesreike Uncly,Go, lf yl! eoTybs'
PROGRAMME
READER—gentle—if so be Such still live, and live for me, Will it please you to be told What my tenscore pages hold?
Here are verses that in spite Of myself I needs must write, Like the wine that oozes first When the unsqueezed grapes have burst.
Here are angry lines, "too hard!" Says the soldier, battle-scarred. Could I smile his scars away I would blot the bitter lay,
Written with a knitted brow, Read with placid wonder now. Throbbed such passion in my heart? Did his wounds once really smart?
Here are varied strains that sing All the changes life can bring, Songs when joyous friends have met, Songs the mourner's tears have wet.
See the banquet's dead bouquet, Fair and fragrant in its day; Do they read the selfsame lines,— He that fasts and he that dines?
Year by year, like milestones placed, Mark the record Friendship traced. Prisoned in the walls of time Life has notched itself in rhyme.
As its seasons slid along, Every year a notch of song, From the June of long ago, When the rose was full in blow,
Till the scarlet sage has come And the cold chrysanthemum. Read, but not to praise or blame; Are not all our hearts the same?
For the rest, they take their chance,— Some may pay a passing glance; Others,-well, they served a turn,— Wherefore written, would you learn?
Not for glory, not for pelf, Not, be sure, to please myself, Not for any meaner ends,— Always "by request of friends."
Here's the cousin of a king,— Would I do the civil thing? Here 's the first-born of a queen; Here 's a slant-eyed Mandarin.
naW?uodlo ffJ paI polishWould ra oF gia dn oigla! ,etiehSP roalerFh?arigork ha St ih safI g erte,Prince mous mans unseenden singewirgnn iWhta snedercr s b aidroylohiam Snee emound p foe-to tre
As through the forest, disarrayed By chill November, late I strayed, A lonely minstrel of the wood Was singing to the solitude I loved thy music, thus I said, When o'er thy perch the leaves were spread Sweet was thy song, but sweeter now Thy carol on the leafless bough. Sing, little bird! thy note shall cheer The sadness of the dying year.
Turn my pages,—never mind If you like not all you find; Think not all the grains are gold Sacramento's sand-banks hold.
Every field its leanest sheaf, Every book its dullest leaf, Every leaf its weakest line,— Shall it not be so with mine?
Every kernel has its shell, Every chime its harshest bell, Every face its weariest look, Every shelf its emptiest book,
.
Would I just this once comply?— So they teased and teased till I (Be the truth at once confessed) Wavered—yielded—did my best.
When violets pranked the turf with blue And morning filled their cups with dew, Thy slender voice with rippling trill The budding April bowers would fill, Nor passed its joyous tones away When April rounded into May: Thy life shall hail no second dawn,— Sing, little bird! the spring is gone.
gneu aotandloo whe tesotyreve dnA,gnur dAnd I remem rs muedalornu whey,Ashindn beewrebmeyad-a-llfuy Th!wnlo-bll
October 7, 1874.
Best for worst shall make amends, Find us, keep us, leave us friends Till, perchance, we meet again. Benedicite.—Amen!
AN OLD-YEAR SONG
IN THE QUIET DAYS
ht !edahs eht pedew Hoilttelb !riSgn , how faie grovesb er.eraoo w adsd!irhe t
Fast, fast the lengthening shadows creep, The songless fowls are half asleep, The air grows chill, the setting sun May leave thee ere thy song is done, The pulse that warms thy breast grow cold, Thy secret die with thee, untold The lingering sunset still is bright,— Sing, little bird! 't will soon be night.
The snow has capped yon distant hill, At morn the running brook was still, From driven herds the clouds that rise Are like the smoke of sacrifice; Erelong the frozen sod shall mock The ploughshare, changed to stubborn rock, The brawling streams shall soon be dumb,— Sing, little bird! the frosts have come.
The summer's throbbing chant is done And mute the choral antiphon; The birds have left the shivering pines To flit among the trellised vines, Or fan the air with scented plumes Amid the love-sick orange-blooms, And thou art here alone,—alone,— Sing, little bird! the rest have flown.
1874.
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DOROTHY Q. A FAMILYPORTRAIT
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