Poetical works.. (1906) (14595245058)

Identifier: poeticalwork00holm (find matches)

Title: Poetical works..

Year: 1906 (1900s)

Authors: Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 1809-1894

Subjects:

Publisher: (n.p.)

Contributing Library: The Library of Congress

Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

Text Appearing Before Image:

nce by the stream,With sad, yet watchful eyes, Calm as the patient planets gleamThat walks the clouded skies. Along its front no sabres shine,No blood-red pennons wave ; Its banner bears the single line, Our duty is to save. For those no death-beds lingering shade 5 At Honors trumpet-call,With knitted brow and lifted blade In Glorys arms they fall. For these no clashing falchions bright, No stirring battle-cry;The bloodless stabber calls by night, — Each answers, Here am I! For those the sculptors laurelled bust, The builders marble piles,The anthems pealing oer their dust Through long cathedral aisles. For these the blossom-sprinkled turfThat floods the lonely graves When Spring rolls in her sea-green surfIn flowery-foaming waves. Two paths lead upward from below, And angels wait above,Who count each burning life-drops flow, Each falling tear of Love. Though from the Heros bleeding breast Her pulses Freedom drew,Though the white lilies in her crest Sprang from that scarlet dew, —

Text Appearing After Image:

MUSA. 1G3 While Valors haughty champions waitTill all their scars are shown, Love walks unchallenged through thegate,To sit beside the Throne ! 0 mt lost beauty ! — hast thou foldedquiteThy wings of morning lightBeyond those iron gatesWhere Life crowds hurrying to the hag-gard Fates,And Age upon his mound of ashes waits To chill our fiery dreams,Hot from the heart of youth plunged inhis icy streams ? Leave me not fading in these weeds ofcare,Whose flowers are silvered hair !Have I not loved thee long,Though my young lips have often done thee wrong,And vexed thy heaven-tuned ear withcareless song?Ah, wilt thou yet return,Bearing thy rose-hued torch, and bidthine altar burn ? Come to me ! — I will flood thy silentshrineWith my souls sacred wine,And heap thy marble floorsAs the wild spice-trees waste their fra-grant stores,In leafy islands walled with madrepores And lapped in Orient seas,When all their feathery palms toss,plume-like, in the breeze. Come to me ! — thou shalt feed on

1906 books book illustrations images from internet archive library of congress

1906

Library of Congress

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