Oliver Wendell Holmes Poems

As through the forest, disarrayed
By chill November, late I strayed,
A lonely minstrel of the wood
...

THIS is our place of meeting; opposite
That towered and pillared building: look at it;
King's Chapel in the Second George's day,
...

SLOW toiling upward from' the misty vale,
I leave the bright enamelled zones below;
No more for me their beauteous bloom shall glow,
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As Clemence! when I saw thee last
Trip down the Rue de Seine,
And turning, when thy form had past,
I said, 'We meet again,'--
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THE god looked out upon the troubled deep
Waked into tumult from its placid sleep;
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OLD Rip Van Winkle had a grandson, Rip,
Of the paternal block a genuine chip,—­
A lazy, sleepy, curious kind of chap;
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READER--gentle--if so be
Such still live, and live for me,
Will it please you to be told
What my tenscore pages hold?
...

I BELIEVE that the copies of verses I've spun,
Like Scheherezade's tales, are a thousand and one;
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WELCOME to the day returning,
Dearer still as ages flow,
...

FAST as the rolling seasons bring
The hour of fate to those we love,
Each pearl that leaves the broken string
...