 | The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes |  |
OUR SECOND SELVES
Look with me through this magic glass,
And see the people as they pass!
As each in turn we bring in view,
We thought him one, but find him two;
A double shape, a twin-like pair,
But one of flesh and one of air,—
The first a vulgar mortal elf,—
The second what he thinks himself!
And see the people as they pass!
As each in turn we bring in view,
We thought him one, but find him two;
A double shape, a twin-like pair,
But one of flesh and one of air,—
The first a vulgar mortal elf,—
The second what he thinks himself!
Our magic glass has curious tricks,—
Yon slender youth of five feet six
Struts like a peacock in the sun,—
His second self is six feet one!
And he with features all awry,
Whose sweetest smile makes children cry,
Walks not alone, but always near
That lovely youth the “Belvidere”!
Yon slender youth of five feet six
Struts like a peacock in the sun,—
His second self is six feet one!
And he with features all awry,
Whose sweetest smile makes children cry,
Walks not alone, but always near
That lovely youth the “Belvidere”!
My lady's cheek can boast no more
The cranberry white and pink it wore;
And where her shining locks divide
The parting line is all too wide,—
(That fatal sign which still reveals
The track of Time's remorseless wheels,—
In short, if all the truth were told,
She's—Hush! a lady's never old!
The cranberry white and pink it wore;
And where her shining locks divide
The parting line is all too wide,—
(That fatal sign which still reveals
The track of Time's remorseless wheels,—
In short, if all the truth were told,
She's—Hush! a lady's never old!
We lift our glass; what youthful bride
Walks blooming at my lady's side?
Where'er she moves is always seen
This sweet young figure, just eighteen,
Fresh as Love's Goddess from the sea,—
Who can this lovely image be?
O, that's my lady, as she seems
When waking, of herself she dreams!
Walks blooming at my lady's side?
Where'er she moves is always seen
This sweet young figure, just eighteen,
Fresh as Love's Goddess from the sea,—
Who can this lovely image be?
O, that's my lady, as she seems
When waking, of herself she dreams!
347
Give some poor lecturer leave to spout,
And sit an hour to hear him out
Look through our eye-glass at the chair—
Lo! Tully seated with him there!
Nay spare the wretch that frozen sneer
Or melt it with one pitying tear,
When the lean, black-coat crow has cawed
And wonders why they dont applaud.
And sit an hour to hear him out
Look through our eye-glass at the chair—
Lo! Tully seated with him there!
Nay spare the wretch that frozen sneer
Or melt it with one pitying tear,
When the lean, black-coat crow has cawed
And wonders why they dont applaud.
Shadow and substance; so we glide,
Life's double spectres, side by side,
Till o'er us peals the passing bell,—
And which is real who can tell?
God grant that in some happier sphere
These flitting shapes may reappear
Each fairer than its earthly dreams
And be as to itself it seems!
Life's double spectres, side by side,
Till o'er us peals the passing bell,—
And which is real who can tell?
God grant that in some happier sphere
These flitting shapes may reappear
Each fairer than its earthly dreams
And be as to itself it seems!
| The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes | |