 | The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes |  |
TO J. M. F. ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY
FEBRUARY 23, 1893
I know thee well. From olden time
Thou hadst a weakness for a rhyme.
And wilt with gracious smile excuse
The languor of a laggard muse,
Whose gait betrays in every line
The weight of years outnumbering thine.
And who will care for blame or praise,
When love each syllable betrays?
Thou hadst a weakness for a rhyme.
And wilt with gracious smile excuse
The languor of a laggard muse,
Whose gait betrays in every line
The weight of years outnumbering thine.
And who will care for blame or praise,
When love each syllable betrays?
The seven-barred gate has long been past,
The eighth tall decade cleared at last;
But when its topmost bar is crossed
Think not that life its charm hath lost;
Ginger will still be hot in mouth,
And winter winds blow sometimes south,
And youth might almost long to take
A slice of fourscore's frosted cake.
The eighth tall decade cleared at last;
But when its topmost bar is crossed
Think not that life its charm hath lost;
Ginger will still be hot in mouth,
And winter winds blow sometimes south,
And youth might almost long to take
A slice of fourscore's frosted cake.
Thrice welcome to the chosen band,
Culled from the crowd by Nature's hand:
No warmer heart for us shall beat,
No freer hand in friendship meet.
Long may he breathe our mortal air,
For heaven has souls enough to spare.
Lay at his feet the fairest flowers—
Thank God he still is Earth's and ours.
Culled from the crowd by Nature's hand:
No warmer heart for us shall beat,
No freer hand in friendship meet.
Long may he breathe our mortal air,
For heaven has souls enough to spare.
Lay at his feet the fairest flowers—
Thank God he still is Earth's and ours.
| The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes | |