Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, the — Volume 02: Additional Poems (1837-1848) by Oliver Wendell Holmes
page 34 of 85 (40%)
page 34 of 85 (40%)
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Nor business frets, nor anxious care intrudes;
_O si sic omnia_ I were it ever so! But what is stable in this world below? _Medio e fonte_,--Virtue has her faults,-- The clearest fountains taste of Epsom salts; We snatch the cup and lift to drain it dry,-- Its central dimple holds a drowning fly Strong is the pine by Maine's ambrosial streams, But stronger augers pierce its thickest beams; No iron gate, no spiked and panelled door, Can keep out death, the postman, or the bore. Oh for a world where peace and silence reign, And blunted dulness verebrates in vain! --The door-bell jingles,--enter Richard Fox, And takes this letter from his leathern box. "Dear Sir,-- In writing on a former day, One little matter I forgot to say; I now inform you in a single line, On Thursday next our purpose is to dine. The act of feeding, as you understand, Is but a fraction of the work in hand; Its nobler half is that ethereal meat The papers call 'the intellectual treat;' Songs, speeches, toasts, around the festive board Drowned in the juice the College pumps afford; For only water flanks our knives and forks, So, sink or float, we swim without the corks. Yours is the art, by native genius taught, |
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