Classic and Contemporary Poetry
EPILOGUE TO THE BREAKFAST-TABLE SERIES, by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: A crazy bookcase, placed before Last Line: Not bad, my bargain! Price one dime! | ||||||||
At a Bookstore Anno Domini 1972 A CRAZY bookcase, placed before A low-price dealer's open door; Therein arrayed in broken rows A ragged crew of rhyme and prose, The homeless vagrants, waifs, and strays Whose low estate this line betrays (Set forth the lesser birds to lime) YOUR CHOICE AMONG THESE BOOKS 1 DIME! This scarecrow from the shelf I take; Three starveling volumes bound in one, Its covers warping in the sun. Methinks it hath a musty smell, I like its flavor none too well, But Yorick's brain was far from dull, Though Hamlet pah! 'd, and dropped his skull. Why, here comes rain! The sky grows dark, -- Was that the roll of thunder? Hark! The shop affords a safe retreat, A chair extends its welcome seat, The tradesman has a civil look (I've paid, impromptu, for my book), The clouds portend a sudden shower, -- I'll read my purchase for an hour. What have I rescued from the shelf? A Boswell, writing out himself! For though he changes dress and name, The man beneath is still the same, Laughing or sad, by fits and starts, One actor in a dozen parts, And whatsoe'er the mask may be, The voice assures us, This is he. I say not this to cry him down; I find my Shakespeare in his clown, His rogues the selfsame parent own; Nay! Satan talks in Milton's tone! Where'er the ocean inlet strays, The salt sea wave its source betrays; Where'er the queen of summer blows, She tells the zephyr, "I'm the rose!" And his is not the playwright's page; His table does not ape the stage; What matter if the figures seen Are only shadows on a screen, He finds in them his lurking thought, And on their lips the words the sought, Like one who sits before the keys And plays a tune himself to please. And was he noted in his day? Read, flattered, honored? Who shall say? Poor wreck of time the wave has cast To find a peaceful shore at last, Once glorying in thy gilded name And freighted deep with hopes of fame, Thy leaf is moistened with a tear, The first for many a long, long year! For be it more or less of art That veils the lowliest human heart Where passion throbs, where friendship glows, Where pity's tender tribute flows, Where love has lit its fragrant fire, And sorrow quenched its vain desire, For me the altar is divine, Its flame, its ashes, -- all are mine! And thou, my brother, as I look And see thee pictured in thy book, Thy years on every page confessed In shadows lengthening from the west, Thy glance that wanders, as it sought Some freshly opening flower of thought, Thy hopeful nature, light and free, I start to find myself in thee! Come, vagrant, outcast, wretch forlorn In leather jerkin stained and torn, Whose talk has filled my idle hour And made me half forget the shower, I'll do at least as much for you, Your coat I'll patch, your gilt renew, Read you -- perhaps -- some other time. Not bad, my bargain! Price one dime! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SEA DIALOGUE by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES A SUN-DAY HYMN [OR LAMENT] by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES AFTER A LECTURE ON KEATS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES BILL AND JOE by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES BIRTHDAY OF DANIEL WEBSTER by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES BOSTON COMMON: 1630 by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES BOSTON COMMON: 1774 by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES BOSTON COMMON: 1869 by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT FOR SISTER CAROLINE [DECEMBER 2O, 1860] by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES CACOETHES SCRIBENDI by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES |
|