Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame?
A fitful tongue of leaping flame;
A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust,
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Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame?
A fitful tongue of leaping flame;
A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust,
That lifts a pinch of mortal dust;
A few swift years, and who can show
Which dust was Bill, and which was Joe?

The crack-brained bobolink courts his crazy mate,
Poised on a bulrush tipsy with his weight.

The crack-brained bobolink courts his crazy mate,
Poised on a bulrush tipsy with his weight.

The first thing naturally when one enters a scholar's study or
library, is to look at his books. One read more

The first thing naturally when one enters a scholar's study or
library, is to look at his books. One gets a notion very
speedily of his tastes and the range of his pursuits by a glance
round his book-shelves.

The lengthening shadows wait
The first pale stars of twilight.

The lengthening shadows wait
The first pale stars of twilight.

I find that the great thing in this world is not so much where we
stand as in what read more

I find that the great thing in this world is not so much where we
stand as in what direction we are moving: To reach the port of
heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes
against it--but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.