My Annual (Oliver Wendell Holmes Poems)
How long will this harp which you once loved to hearCheat your lips of a smile or your eyes of ...
How long will this harp which you once loved to hearCheat your lips of a smile or your eyes of ...
BLEST were those days! Can these dull ages boastAught to compare? though now no more beguile,Chain'd in their darkling depths, ...
BEARER of Freedom's holy light,Breaker of Slavery's chain and rod,The foe of all which pains the sight,Or wounds the generous ...
Along the avenue I pass Huge piles of wood and stone, And glance at each amorphous mass, Whose cumbrous weight has crushed the ...
The yeoman lays aside his soil-stained smock, And from his herd selects a trusty steed, And sallies forth to help in hour ...
Thou Poet, who, like any lark, Dost whet thy beak and trill From misty morn till murky dark, Nor ever pipe thy fill: Hast ...
The lowliest born of all the land,He wrung from Fate's reluctant handThe gifts which happier boyhood claims;And, tasting on a ...
THE ARTISAN.This twilight gloom. This lone retreat--This silence to my soul is sweet!Awhile escap'd from toil and strife,And all the ...
If but with my pen I could draw him, With terror you'd look in his face;For he, since the first day ...
Lord Finchley tried to mend the Electric LightHimself. It struck him dead: And serve him right!It is the business of ...
THERE'S a mansion old 'mid the hills of the west,So old, that men know not by whom it was built;But ...
I. A palace, and a king within;- Hail, potent monarch! Hail, King Gin! Open stands his palace door; Ready access ...
I've lived all my life i' Keighley, I'm a Yorkshire artisan;An' when I were just turned seventy I ...
What do I want my boy to be?Oft is the question asked of me,And oft I ask it of myself--What ...
Beautiful colored fabric made by the impeccable artisan clothing ourselves in the fabric of love walking dressed in God Love ...
Seeing the world as the work of that artisan God, the creator bringing the world into existence out of his ...
Dew -- is the Freshet in the Grass -- 'Tis many a tiny Mill Turns unperceived beneath our feet And ...
Lord Finchley tried to mend the Electric Light Himself. It struck him dead: And serve him right! It is the ...
THE SUN had clos'd the winter day, The curless quat their roarin play, And hunger'd maukin taen her way, To ...
Of Poetry I've been accused, But much more often I have not; Oh, I have been so much amused By ...
I. Sunrise. In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main. ...
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