 | The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes |  |
THE DESTROYERS
Sow thick thy flowerets, gentle Spring!
The soil is ghastly bare,
And pour from every balmy leaf
Thy sweetness on the air;
Ay, wrap the hills and vales in green,
Waste all thy perfumed breath.
The mould is black with crumbling shapes,
The winds are damp with death.
The soil is ghastly bare,
And pour from every balmy leaf
Thy sweetness on the air;
Ay, wrap the hills and vales in green,
Waste all thy perfumed breath.
The mould is black with crumbling shapes,
The winds are damp with death.
Soft as a kiss on lady's cheek,
The ripples touch the shore;
Tomorrow, and the strangling shriek
Shall swell the billow's roar.
And many an eye that maiden loves.
The rolling wave shall close,
And lips that children weep to hear,
Lie sealed in long repose.
The ripples touch the shore;
410
Shall swell the billow's roar.
And many an eye that maiden loves.
The rolling wave shall close,
And lips that children weep to hear,
Lie sealed in long repose.
The scorching sunbeam sears the field
That gleamed with Autumn's gold,
And dying mothers bare their breasts
To babes whose lips are cold.
By night the livid Plague went by,
Scarce was a leaflet stirred—
Whence came that lone and smothered cry?
Why screams the carrion bird?
That gleamed with Autumn's gold,
And dying mothers bare their breasts
To babes whose lips are cold.
By night the livid Plague went by,
Scarce was a leaflet stirred—
Whence came that lone and smothered cry?
Why screams the carrion bird?
And, thou, the parent and the tomb,
That rocks and shrouds us all,
Whose bosom warms our growing limbs
And veils them when they fall,—
Beneath the bounding foot of life
Heaves up thy bursting soil,
And Pleasure's wreath is rank and green,
Gorged with thy loathsome spoil.
That rocks and shrouds us all,
Whose bosom warms our growing limbs
And veils them when they fall,—
Beneath the bounding foot of life
Heaves up thy bursting soil,
And Pleasure's wreath is rank and green,
Gorged with thy loathsome spoil.
The eagle sits upon his cliff,
And watches for the dead;
The worm is coiled beneath the sod,
The slumberer's dreamless bed;
The shark is swimming in the wake—
None, none shall lose his claim;
Four hands have spread the banquet board—
Earth, Ocean, Air, and Flame!
And watches for the dead;
The worm is coiled beneath the sod,
The slumberer's dreamless bed;
The shark is swimming in the wake—
None, none shall lose his claim;
Four hands have spread the banquet board—
Earth, Ocean, Air, and Flame!
| The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes | |