Poems from The Teacups

Project Gutenberg EBook The Poetical Works of O. W. Holmes,
Volume 11. Poems from The Teacups Series
#25 in our series by
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.
This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.
Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in how
the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.
**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since
1971**
*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers*****
Title: The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Volume 11.
Poems from The Teacups Series
Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
Release Date: January, 2005 [Etext #7398]
[Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule]
[Most recently updated: April 22, 2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII
0. START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF O.
W. HOLMES, V11 ***
This eBook was produced by David Widger [[email protected]
]
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
1893
(Printed in three volumes)
CONTENTS:
POEMS FROM OVER THE TEACUPS.
TO THE ELEVEN LADIES WHO PRESENTED ME WITH A
SILVER LOVING CUP THE PEAU DE CHAGRIN OF STATE
STREET
CACOETHES SCRIBENDI
THE ROSE AND THE
FERN
I LIKE YOU AND I LOVE YOU
LA MAISON D'OR
BAR HARBOR
TOO YOUNG FOR LOVE
THE
BROOMSTICK TRAIN; OR, THE RETURN OF THE WITCHES

TARTARUS
AT THE TURN OF THE ROAD
INVITA
MINERVA
READINGS OVER THE TEACUPS
TO MY OLD READERS
THE BANKER'S SECRET
THE
EXILE'S SECRET
THE LOVER'S SECRET
THE
STATESMAN'S SECRET
THE MOTHER'S SECRET
THE
SECRET OF THE STARS
POEMS FROM OVER THE TEACUPS
TO THE ELEVEN LADIES

WHO PRESENTED ME WITH A SILVER LOVING CUP
ON
THE TWENTY-NINTH OF AUGUST, M DCCC LXXXIX
"WHO gave this cup?" The secret thou wouldst steal
Its brimming
flood forbids it to reveal:
No mortal's eye shall read it till he first

Cool the red throat of thirst.
If on the golden floor one draught remain,
Trust me, thy careful
search will be in vain;
Not till the bowl is emptied shalt thou know

The names enrolled below.
Deeper than Truth lies buried in her well
Those modest names the
graven letters spell
Hide from the sight; but wait, and thou shalt see

Who the good angels be
Whose bounty glistens in the beauteous gift
That friendly hands to
loving lips shall lift
Turn the fair goblet when its floor is dry,--

Their names shall meet thine eye.
Count thou their number on the beads of Heaven
Alas! the clustered
Pleiads are but seven;
Nay, the nine sister Muses are too few,--
The
Graces must add two.
"For whom this gift?" For one who all too long
Clings to his bough
among the groves of song;
Autumn's last leaf, that spreads its faded
wing
To greet a second spring.
Dear friends, kind friends, whate'er the cup may hold,
Bathing its
burnished depths, will change to gold
Its last bright drop let thirsty
Maenads drain,
Its fragrance will remain.
Better love's perfume in the empty bowl
Than wine's nepenthe for the
aching soul;
Sweeter than song that ever poet sung,
It makes an old
heart young!
THE PEAU DE CHAGRIN OF STATE STREET

How beauteous is the bond
In the manifold array
Of its promises to
pay,
While the eight per cent it gives
And the rate at which one
lives
Correspond!
But at last the bough is bare
Where the coupons one by one

Through their ripening days have run,
And the bond, a beggar now,

Seeks investment anyhow,
Anywhere!
CACOETHES SCRIBENDI
IF all the trees in all the woods were men;
And each and every blade
of grass a pen;
If every leaf on every shrub and tree
Turned to a
sheet of foolscap; every sea
Were changed to ink, and all earth's
living tribes
Had nothing else to do but act as scribes,
And for ten
thousand ages, day and night,
The human race should write, and write,
and write,
Till all the pens and paper were used up,
And the huge
inkstand was an empty cup,
Still would the scribblers clustered round
its brink
Call for more pens, more paper, and more ink.
THE ROSE AND THE FERN
LADY, life's sweetest lesson wouldst thou learn,
Come thou with me
to Love's enchanted bower
High overhead the trellised roses burn;

Beneath thy feet behold