|John Bartlett (18201905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.|
|Oliver Wendell Holmes. (18091894) (continued)|
| And since, I never dare to write|
As funny as I can.
| The Height of the Ridiculous.|
| Little I ask; my wants are few,|
I only want a hut of stone,
(A very plain brownstone will do,)
That I may call my own. 1
| When the last reader reads no more.|
| The last Reader.|
| The freeman casting with unpurchased hand|
The vote that shakes the turrets of the land.
| Poetry, a Metrical Essay.|
| And when you stick on conversations burrs,|
Dont strew your pathway with those dreadful urs.
| A rhymed Lesson. Urania.|
| Wake in our breast the living fires,|
The holy faith that warmed our sires;
Thy hand hath made our nation free;
To die for her is serving Thee.
| Army Hymn.|
| Thine eye was on the censer,|
And not the hand that bore it.
| Lines by a Clerk.|
| Where go the poets lines?|
Answer, ye evening tapers!
Ye auburn locks, ye golden curls,
Speak from your folded papers!
| The Poets Lot.|
| A few can touch the magic string,|
And noisy Fame is proud to win them;
Alas for those that never sing,
But die with all their music in them!
| The Voiceless.|
Goldsmith: The Hermit.
Man wants but little here below
Nor wants that little long;
T is not with me exactly so
But t is so in the song. [back]