Before the Curfew

Project Gutenberg EBook The Poetical Works of O. W. Holmes,
Volume 10. Before the Curfew
#24 in our series by Oliver Wendell
Holmes, Sr.
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Title: The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Volume 10.
Before the Curfew
Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
Release Date: January, 2005 [Etext #7397]
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[Most recently updated: April 22, 2003]
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0. START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF O.
W. HOLMES, V10 ***
This eBook was produced by David Widger [[email protected]
]
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
1893
(Printed in three volumes)
CONTENTS:
BEFORE THE CURFEW
AT MY FIRESIDE
AT THE SATURDAY CLUB
OUR DEAD
SINGER. H. W. L.
TWO POEMS TO HARRIET BEECHER
STOWE ON HER SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY.
I. AT THE SUMMIT
II. THE WORLD'S HOMAGE
A
WELCOME TO DR. BENJAMIN APTHORP GOULD
TO
FREDERICK HENRY HEDGE ON HIS EIGHTIETH
BIRTHDAY
TO JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
TO JOHN
GREENLEAF WHITTIER ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY

PRELUDE TO A VOLUME PRINTED IN RAISED LETTERS

FOR THE BLIND
BOSTON TO FLORENCE
AT THE
UNITARIAN FESTIVAL, MARCH 8, 1882
POEM FOR THE
TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF THE
FOUNDING OF
HARVARD COLLEGE
POST-PRANDIAL: PHI BETA KAPPA,
1881
THE FLANEUR: DURING THE TRANSIT OF VENUS,
1882
AVE
KING'S CHAPEL READ AT THE TWO
HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY
HYMN FOR THE SAME

OCCASION
HYMN.--THE WORD OF PROMISE
HYMN
READ AT THE DEDICATION OF THE OLIVER WENDELL
HOLMES HOSPITAL AT HUDSON, WISCONSIN, JUNE 7, 1887

ON THE DEATH OF PRESIDENT GARFIELD
THE
GOLDEN FLOWER
HAIL, COLUMBIA!
POEM FOR THE
DEDICATION OF THE FOUNTAIN AT
STRATFORD-ON-AVON, PRESENTED
BY GEORGE CHILDS, OF PHILADELPHIA
TO THE POETS
WHO ONLY READ AND LISTEN
FOR THE DEDICATION
OF THE NEW CITY LIBRARY
FOR THE WINDOW IN ST.
MARGARET'S
JAMES RUSSELL LO WELL: 1819-1891
BEFORE THE CURFEW
AT MY FIRESIDE
ALONE, beneath the darkened sky,
With saddened heart and
unstrung lyre,
I heap the spoils of years gone by,
And leave them
with a long-drawn sigh,
Like drift-wood brands that glimmering lie,

Before the ashes hide the fire.
Let not these slow declining days
The rosy light of dawn outlast;

Still round my lonely hearth it plays,
And gilds the east with
borrowed rays,
While memory's mirrored sunset blaze
Flames on
the windows of the past.
March 1, 1888.
AT THE SATURDAY CLUB
THIS is our place of meeting;
opposite
That towered and pillared building: look at it;
King's
Chapel in the Second George's day,
Rebellion stole its regal name
away,--
Stone Chapel sounded better; but at last
The poisoned name
of our provincial past
Had lost its ancient venom; then once more

Stone Chapel was King's Chapel as before.
(So let rechristened North

Street, when it can,
Bring back the days of Marlborough and Queen
Anne!)
Next the old church your wandering eye will meet--
A
granite pile that stares upon the street--
Our civic temple; slanderous
tongues have said
Its shape was modelled from St. Botolph's head,

Lofty, but narrow; jealous passers-by
Say Boston always held her
head too high.
Turn half-way round, and let your look survey
The
white facade that gleams across the way,--
The many-windowed
building, tall and wide,
The palace-inn that shows its northern side

In grateful shadow when the sunbeams beat
The granite wall in
summer's scorching heat.
This is the place; whether its name you
spell
Tavern, or caravansera, or hotel.
Would I could steal its
echoes! you should find
Such store of vanished pleasures brought to
mind
Such feasts! the laughs of many a jocund hour
That shook the
mortar from King George's tower;
Such guests! What famous names
its record boasts,
Whose owners wander in the mob of ghosts!
Such
stories! Every beam and plank is filled
With juicy wit the joyous
talkers spilled,
Ready to ooze, as once the mountain pine
The floors
are laid with oozed its turpentine!
A month had flitted since The Club had met;
The day came round; I
found the table set,
The waiters lounging round the marble stairs,

Empty as yet the