Thomas R. Lounsbury, ed. (1838–1915). Yale Book of American Verse. 1912.
Oliver Wendell Holmes 18091894
Oliver Wendell Holmes101 The Philosopher to His Love
D
Reflected in a certain way;
A word, whatever tone it wear,
Is but a trembling wave of air;
A touch, obedience to a clause
In nature’s pure material laws.
In sweetening others, grow more sweet; The clouds by day, the stars by night, Inweave their floating locks of light; The rainbow, Heaven’s own forehead’s braid, Is but the embrace of sun and shade. How wide the world that girds them round! Like mountain streams we meet and part, Each living in the other’s heart, Our course unknown, our hope to be Yet mingled in the distant sea. Bound in the subtle moonbeam’s chain; And love and hope do but obey Some cold, capricious planet’s ray, Which lights and leads the tide it charms To Death’s dark caves and icy arms. That links our sunset with our dawn; In mist and shade life’s morning rose, And clouds are round it at its close; But ah! no twilight beam ascends To whisper where that evening ends. Those shadows round my senses steal, When gentle eyes are weeping o’er The clay that feels their tears no more, Then let thy spirit with me be, Or some sweet angel, likest thee!