I sometimes sit beneath a tree
And read my own sweet songs;
Though naught they may to others be,
Each humble line prolongs
A tone that might have passed away
But for that scarce remembered lay.
I keep them like a lock or leaf
That some dear girl has given;
Frail record of an hour, as brief
As sunset clouds in heaven,
But spreading purple twilight still
High over memory
(Oliver Wendell Holmes)
More Poetry from Oliver Wendell Holmes:
Oliver Wendell Holmes Poems based on Topics: Nature, Heaven- Poetry: A Metrical Essay, Read Before the Phi Beta Kappa Society, Harvard (Oliver Wendell Holmes Poems)
- Poem For The Two Hundred And Fiftieth Anniversary Of The Founding Of Harvard College (Oliver Wendell Holmes Poems)
- Agnes (Oliver Wendell Holmes Poems)
- Astraea: The Balance Of Illusions (Oliver Wendell Holmes Poems)
- The School-Boy (Oliver Wendell Holmes Poems)
- The Banker's Secret (Oliver Wendell Holmes Poems)