Classic and Contemporary Poetry
OUR BANKER, by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Old time, in whose bank we deposit our notes Last Line: "till he squares his account with the last of ""the boys." Subject(s): Classmates; Schoolmates | ||||||||
OLD TIME, in whose bank we deposit our notes, Is a miser who always wants guineas for groats; He keeps all his customers still in arrears By lending them minutes and charging them years. The twelvemonth rolls round and we never forget On the counter before us to pay him our debt. We reckon the marks he has chalked on the door, Pay up and shake hands and begin a new score. How long he will lend us, how much we may owe, No angel will tell us, no mortal may know. At fivescore, at fourscore, at threescore and ten, He may close the account with a stroke of his pen. This only we know, -- amid sorrows and joys Old Time has been easy and kind with "The Boys." Though he must have and will have and does have his pay, We have found him good-natured enough in his way. He never forgets us, as others will do, -- I am sure he knows me, and I think he knows you, For I see on your foreheads a mark that he lends As a sign he remembers to visit his friends. In the shape of a classmate (a wig on his crown, -- His day-book and ledger laid carefully down) He has welcomed us yearly, a glass in his hand, And pledged the good health of our brotherly band. He's a thief, we must own, but how many there be That rob us less gently and fairly than he: He has stripped the green leaves that were over us all, But they let in the sunshine as fast as they fall. Young beauties may ravish the world with a glance As they languish in song, as they float in the dance, -- They are grandmothers now we remember as girls, And the comely white cap takes the place of the curls. But the sighing and moaning and groaning are o'er, We are pining and moping and sleepless no more, And the hearts that were thumping like ships on the rocks Beat as quiet and steady as meeting-house clocks. The trump of ambition, loud sounding and shrill, May blow its long blast, but the echoes are still, The spring-tides are past, but no billow may reach The spoils they have landed far up on the beach. We see that Time robs us, we know that he cheats, But we still find a charm in his pleasant deceits, While he leaves the remembrance of all that was best, Love, friendship, and hope, and the promise of rest. Sweet shadows of twilight! how calm their repose, While the dewdrops fall soft in the breast of the rose! How blest to the toiler his hour of release When the vesper is heard with its whisper of peace! Then here's to the wrinkled old miser, our friend; May he send us his bills to the century's end, And lend us the moments no sorrow alloys, Till he squares his account with the last of "The Boys." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CLASS by ALICIA SUSKIN OSTRIKER FOR A STUDENT SLEEPING IN A POETRY WORKSHOP by DAVID WAGONER BILL AND JOE by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE BOYS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE OLD MAN DREAMS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES GEORGE LEVISON OR, THE SCHOOLFELLOWS by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM BOOKS ET VERITAS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET CLASS POEM by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE GIRL FROM SOAP SUDS ROW by NATHALIA CRANE A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY [DECEMBER 16, 1773] by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES |
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