The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes: V5 & V6, Volume 5

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IndyPublish.com, Jul 15, 2005 - Poetry - 228 pages
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Page 22 - AY, tear her tattered ensign down ! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky; Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar; — The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck once red with heroes...
Page 150 - Ere the priming-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the Crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said,
Page 199 - IT was a tall young oysterman lived by the river-side, His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide; The daughter of a fisherman, that was so straight and slim, Lived over on the other bank, right opposite to him. It was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid, Upon a moonlight evening, a-sitting in the shade; He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say, "I'm wide awake, young oysterman, and all the folks away.
Page 70 - She pardoned one, our classic city's boast, Who said at Cambridge, most instead of most, But knit her brows and stamped her angry foot To hear a Teacher call a root a root. Once more ; speak clearly, if you speak at all ; Carve every word before you let it fall...
Page 132 - THE PHILOSOPHER TO HIS LOVE DEAREST, a look is but a ray Reflected in a certain way ; A word, whatever tone it wear, Is but a trembling wave of air ; A touch, obedience to a clause In nature's pure material laws. The very flowers that bend and meet, In sweetening others, grow more sweet...
Page 156 - ... And thunder down the hill, Before the little Katydid Shall add one word, to tell The mystic story of the maid Whose name she knows so well. Peace to the ever-murmuring race ! And when the latest one Shall fold in death her feeble wings...
Page 267 - T was hammered by an Antwerp smith, whose arm was like a flail; And now and then between the strokes, for fear his strength should fail, He wiped his brow, and quaffed a cup of good old Flemish ale. "'Twas purchased by an English squire to please his loving dame, Who saw the...
Page 22 - Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe, When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the conquered knee ; — The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea...
Page 152 - My grandmamma has said — Poor old lady, she is dead Long ago— That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow. But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here; But the old three-cornered hat, And the breeches, and all that, Are so queer! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring, Let them smile, as I do now, At...
Page 159 - ... strains the aching clasp That binds her virgin zone. I know it hurts her — though she looks As cheerful as she can ; Her waist is ampler than her life — For life is but a span My aunt ! my poor, deluded aunt! Her hair is almost gray...

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