Page 689

Oliver Wendell Holmes. (1809–1894) (continued)

6929

And since, I never dare to write
As funny as I can.

The Height of the Ridiculous.

6930

    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

Contentment.

6931

When the last reader reads no more.

The last Reader.

6932

The freeman casting with unpurchased hand
The vote that shakes the turrets of the land.

Poetry, a Metrical Essay.

6933

And when you stick on conversation’s burrs,
Don’t strew your pathway with those dreadful urs.

A rhymed Lesson. Urania.

6934

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.

6935

Thine eye was on the censer,
And not the hand that bore it.

Lines by a Clerk.

6936

    Where go the poet’s lines?
  Answer, ye evening tapers!
Ye auburn locks, ye golden curls,
  Speak from your folded papers!

The Poet’s Lot.

6937

    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.

Note 1.
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]

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