The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 11: Poems from the Teacups Series

Oliver Wendell Holmes

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• Publié par: thowyer
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 40
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Vol. 11, 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. 11 Poems From Over The Teacups Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. Release Date: September 30, 2004 [EBook #7398] Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF HOLMES, VOL. 11 ***

Produced by David Widger

THE POETICAL WORKS

OF

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

[Volume 3 of the 1893 three volume set]

POEMS FROM OVER THE TEACUPS

POEMS FROM OVER THE TEACUPS. TO THE ELEVEN LADIES WHO PRESENTED ME WITH A SILVER LOVING CUP THE PEAU DE CHAGRIN OF STATE STREET CACOETHES SCRIBENDI THE ROSE AND THE FERN I LIKE YOU AND I LOVE YOU LA MAISON D'OR BAR HARBOR TOO YOUNG FOR LOVE THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN; OR, THE RETURN OF THE WITCHES TARTARUS AT THE TURN OF THE ROAD INVITA MINERVA

READINGS OVER THE TEACUPS TO MY OLD READERS THE BANKER'S SECRET THE EXILE'S SECRET THE LOVER'S SECRET THE STATESMAN'S SECRET THEMOTHER'S SECRET THESECRET OFTHESTARS

TO THE ELEVEN LADIES

WHO PRESENTED MEWITH A SILVER LOVINGCUP ON THETWENTY-NINTH OFAUGUST, M DCCC LXXXIX

"WHO gave this cup?" The secret thou wouldst steal Its brimming flood forbids it to reveal: No mortal's eye shall read it till he first Cool the red throat of thirst.

If on the golden floor one draught remain, Trust me, thy careful search will be in vain; Not till the bowl is emptied shalt thou know The names enrolled below.

Deeper than Truth lies buried in her well Those modest names the graven letters spell Hide from the sight; but wait, and thou shalt see Who the good angels be.

Whose bounty glistens in the beauteous gift That friendly hands to loving lips shall lift Turn the fair goblet when its floor is dry,— Their names shall meet thine eye.

Count thou their number on the beads of Heaven Alas! the clustered Pleiads are but seven; Nay, the nine sister Muses are too few,— The Graces must add two.

"For whom this gift?" For one who all too long Clings to his bough among the groves of song; Autumn's last leaf, that spreads its faded wing To greet a second spring.

Dear friends, kind friends, whate'er the cup may hold, Bathing its burnished depths, will change to gold Its last bright drop let thirsty Maenads drain, Its fragrance will remain.

Better love's perfume in the empty bowl Than wine's nepenthe for the aching soul; Sweeter than song that ever poet sung, It makes an old heart young!

THE PEAU DE CHAGRIN OF STATE STREET

How beauteous is the bond In the manifold array Of its promises to pay, While the eight per cent it gives And the rate at which one lives Correspond!

But at last the bough is bare Where the coupons one by one Through their ripening days have run, And the bond, a beggar now, Seeks investment anyhow, Anywhere!

CACOETHES SCRIBENDI

IF all the trees in all the woods were men; And each and every blade of grass a pen; If every leaf on every shrub and tree Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea Were changed to ink, and all earth's living tribes Had nothing else to do but act as scribes, And for ten thousand ages, day and night, The human race should write, and write, and write, Till all the pens and paper were used up, And the huge inkstand was an empty cup, Still would the scribblers clustered round its brink Call for more pens, more paper, and more ink.

THE ROSE AND THE FERN

LADY, life's sweetest lesson wouldst thou learn, Come thou with me to Love's enchanted bower High overhead the trellised roses burn; Beneath thy feet behold the feathery fern,— A leaf without a flower.

What though the rose leaves fall? They still are sweet, And have been lovely in their beauteous prime, While the bare frond seems ever to repeat, "For us no bud, no blossom, wakes to greet The joyous flowering time!"

Heed thou the lesson. Life has leaves to tread And flowers to cherish; summer round thee glows; Wait not till autumn's fading robes are shed, But while its petals still are burning red Gather life's full-blown rose!

I LIKE YOU AND I LOVE YOU

I LIKE YOU Met I LOVE You, face to face; The path was narrow, and they could not pass. I LIKE YOU smiled; I LOVE YOU cried, Alas! And so they halted for a little space.

"Turn thou and go before," I LOVE YOU said, "Down the green pathway, bright with many a flower; Deep in the valley, lo! my bridal bower Awaits thee." But I LIKE YOU shook his head.

Then while they lingered on the span-wide shelf That shaped a pathway round the rocky ledge, I LIKE You bared his icy dagger's edge, And first he slew I LOVE You,—then himself.

LA MAISON D'OR

(BAR HARBOR)

FROM this fair home behold on either side The restful mountains or the restless sea So the warm sheltering walls of life divide Time and its tides from still eternity.

Look on the waves: their stormy voices teach That not on earth may toil and struggle cease. Look on the mountains: better far than speech Their silent promise of eternal peace.

TOO YOUNG FOR LOVE

Too young for love? Ah, say not so! Tell reddening rose-buds not to blow Wait not for spring to pass away,— Love's summer months begin with May! Too young for love? Ah, say not so! Too young? Too young? Ah, no! no! no!

Too young for love? Ah, say not so, To practise all love learned in May. June soon will come with lengthened day While daisies bloom and tulips glow!

Too young for love? Ah, say not so! Too young? Too young? Ah, no! no! no!

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