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At The Papyrus Club Post by :JayCapo1 Category :Poems Author :Oliver Wendell Holmes Date :November 2010 Read :894

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At The Papyrus Club

A LOVELY show for eyes to see
I looked upon this morning,--
A bright-hued, feathered company
Of nature's own adorning;
But ah! those minstrels would not sing
A listening ear while I lent,--
The lark sat still and preened his wing,
The nightingale was silent;
I longed for what they gave me not--
Their warblings sweet and fluty,
But grateful still for all I got
I thanked them for their beauty.

A fairer vision meets my view
Of Claras, Margarets, Marys,
In silken robes of varied hue,
Like bluebirds and canaries;
The roses blush, the jewels gleam,
The silks and satins glisten,
The black eyes flash, the blue eyes beam,
We look--and then we listen
Behold the flock we cage to-night--
Was ever such a capture?
To see them is a pure delight;
To hear them--ah! what rapture!

Methinks I hear Delilah's laugh
At Samson bound in fetters;
"We captured!" shrieks each lovelier half,
"Men think themselves our betters!
We push the bolt, we turn the key
On warriors, poets, sages,
Too happy, all of them, to be
Locked in our golden cages!"
Beware! the boy with bandaged eyes
Has flung away his blinder;

He 's lost his mother--so he cries--
And here he knows he'll find her:
The rogue! 't is but a new device,--
Look out for flying arrows
Whene'er the birds of Paradise
Are perched amid the sparrows!

(The end)
Oliver Wendell Holmes's poem: At The Papyrus Club

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For Whittier's Seventieth Birthday For Whittier's Seventieth Birthday

For Whittier's Seventieth Birthday
DECEMBER 17, 1877I BELIEVE that the copies of verses I've spun,Like Scheherezade's tales, are a thousand and one;You remember the story,--those mornings in bed,--'T was the turn of a copper,--a tale or a head.A doom like Scheherezade's falls upon meIn a mandate as stern as the Sultan's decreeI'm a florist in verse, and what would people sayIf I came to a banquet without my bouquet?It is trying, no doubt, when the company knowsJust the look and the smell of each lily and rose,The green of each leaf in the sprigs that I bring,And the shape of the bunch and the knot

To George Peabody To George Peabody

To George Peabody
DANVERS, 1866BANKRUPT! our pockets inside out!Empty of words to speak his praises!Worcester and Webster up the spout!Dead broke of laudatory phrases!Yet why with flowery speeches tease,With vain superlatives distress him?Has language better words than these?THE FRIEND OF ALL HIS RACE, GOD BLESS HIM!A simple prayer--but words more sweetBy human lips were never uttered,Since Adam left the country seatWhere angel wings around him fluttered.The old look on with tear-dimmed eyes,The children cluster to caress him,And every voice unbidden cries,THE FRIEND OF ALL HIS RACE, GOD BLESS HIM!(The end)Oliver Wendell Holmes's poem: To George Peabody