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On The Threshold Post by :wliberty Category :Poems Author :Oliver Wendell Holmes Date :November 2010 Read :3175

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On The Threshold


AN usher standing at the door
I show my white rosette;
A smile of welcome, nothing more,
Will pay my trifling debt;
Why should I bid you idly wait
Like lovers at the swinging gate?

Can I forget the wedding guest?
The veteran of the sea?
In vain the listener smites his breast,--
"There was a ship," cries he!
Poor fasting victim, stunned and pale,
He needs must listen to the tale.

He sees the gilded throng within,
The sparkling goblets gleam,
The music and the merry din
Through every window stream,
But there he shivers in the cold
Till all the crazy dream is told.

Not mine the graybeard's glittering eye
That held his captive still
To hold my silent prisoners by
And let me have my will;
Nay, I were like the three-years' child,
To think you could be so beguiled!

My verse is but the curtain's fold
That hides the painted scene,
The mist by morning's ray unrolled
That veils the meadow's green,
The cloud that needs must drift away
To show the rose of opening day.

See, from the tinkling rill you hear
In hollowed palm I bring
These scanty drops, but ah, how near
The founts that heavenward spring!
Thus, open wide the gates are thrown
And founts and flowers are all your own!

(The end)
Oliver Wendell Holmes's poem: On The Threshold

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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

My Aviary My Aviary

My Aviary
Through my north window, in the wintry weather,--My airy oriel on the river shore,--I watch the sea-fowl as they flock togetherWhere late the boatman flashed his dripping oar.The gull, high floating, like a sloop unladen,Lets the loose water waft him as it will;The duck, round-breasted as a rustic maiden,Paddles and plunges, busy, busy still.I see the solemn gulls in council sittingOn some broad ice-floe pondering long and late,While overhead the home-bound ducks are flitting,And leave the tardy conclave in debate,Those weighty questions in their breasts revolvingWhose deeper meaning science never learns,Till at some reverend elder's look dissolving,The speechless senate silently adjourns.But