The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 01: Earlier Poems (1830-1836) By: Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894) |
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The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 01: Earlier Poems (1830-1836) by Oliver Wendell Holmes is a collection of poems that showcase the early talent of the renowned American poet. Holmes' poetry is characterized by its wit, humor, and keen observations of human nature.
In this volume, readers are treated to a glimpse of Holmes' early work, which already demonstrates his skill in crafting memorable verses. From humorous poems that poke fun at society to poignant reflections on loss and love, Holmes covers a wide range of subjects with insight and sensitivity.
One of the highlights of this collection is the poem "Old Ironsides," which helped save the historic ship USS Constitution from being scrapped. Holmes' impassioned plea for the preservation of this piece of American history showcases his ability to inspire and rally readers to a cause.
Overall, The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 01: Earlier Poems is a delightful read for fans of poetry and American literature. Holmes' writing style is engaging and accessible, making this collection a must-read for anyone interested in exploring the works of this influential poet. OF OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES [1893 three volume set] CONTENTS: TO MY READERS EARLIER POEMS (1830 1836). OLD IRONSIDES THE LAST LEAF THE CAMBRIDGE CHURCHYARD TO AN INSECT THE DILEMMA MY AUNT REFLECTIONS OF A PROUD PEDESTRIAN DAILY TRIALS, BY A SENSITIVE MAN EVENING, BY A TAILOR THE DORCHESTER GIANT TO THE PORTRAIT OF "A LADY" THE COMET THE Music GRINDERS THE TREADMILL SONG THE SEPTEMBER GALE THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS THE LAST READER POETRY: A METRICAL ESSAY TO MY READERS NAY, blame me not; I might have spared Your patience many a trivial verse, Yet these my earlier welcome shared, So, let the better shield the worse. And some might say, "Those ruder songs Had freshness which the new have lost; To spring the opening leaf belongs, The chestnut burs await the frost." When those I wrote, my locks were brown, When these I write ah, well a day! The autumn thistle's silvery down Is not the purple bloom of May. Go, little book, whose pages hold Those garnered years in loving trust; How long before your blue and gold Shall fade and whiten in the dust? O sexton of the alcoved tomb, Where souls in leathern cerements lie, Tell me each living poet's doom! How long before his book shall die? It matters little, soon or late, A day, a month, a year, an age, I read oblivion in its date, And Finis on its title page... Continue reading book >>
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