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 | The complete poetical works of Oliver Wendell Holmes |  |
Thy son, thy servant, dearest Mother mine,
Lays this poor offering on thy holy shrine,
An autumn leaflet to the wild winds tost,
Touched by the finger of November's frost,
With sweet, sad memories of that earlier day,
And all that listened to my first-born lay,
With grateful heart this glorious morn I see,—
Would that my tribute worthier were of thee!
Lays this poor offering on thy holy shrine,
An autumn leaflet to the wild winds tost,
Touched by the finger of November's frost,
With sweet, sad memories of that earlier day,
And all that listened to my first-born lay,
With grateful heart this glorious morn I see,—
Would that my tribute worthier were of thee!
| The complete poetical works of Oliver Wendell Holmes | |