This week: Oliver Wendell Holmes Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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Sun and Shadow
by Oliver Wendell Holmes
As I look from the isle, o'er its billows of green,
To the billows of foam-crested blue,
Yon bark, that afar in the distance is seen,
Half dreaming, my eyes will pursue:
Now dark in the shadow, she scatters the spray
As the chaff in the stroke of the flail;
Now white as the sea-gull, she flies on her way,
The sun gleaming bright on her sail.
Yet her pilot is thinking of dangers to shun,--
Of breakers that whiten and roar;
How little he cares, if in shadow or sun
They see him who gaze from the shore!
He looks to the beacon that looms from the reef,
To the rock that is under his lee,
As he drifts on the blast, like a wind-wafted leaf,
O'er the gulfs of the desolate sea.
Thus drifting afar to the dim-vaulted caves
Where life and its ventures are laid,
The dreamers who gaze while we battle the waves
May see us in sunshine or shade;
Yet true to our course, though the shadows grow dark,
We'll trim our broad sail as before,
And stand by the rudder that governs the bark,
Nor ask how we look from the shore!
On August 29, 1809 in Cambridge Massachusetts, Minister Abiel Holmes and his second wife Sarah Wendell welcomed their first son, Oliver Wendell Holmes into their family. Sarah came from a wealthy family and Holmes was named after her father, a judge. Holmes was a good student, but often got in trouble for being talkative and disrupting the teachers' lessons. Holmes spent a lot of time in his father's library as a child. He began writing at a young age. He studied at a private academy before being sent to Phillips Academy, with his father’s hopes of him becoming a minister.
Holmes went to Harvard to study law after graduating from Phillips Academy. He only studied law for a short time before changing to medical studies. During this time he continued his love of literature and poetry. He contributed numerous pieces to American periodicals. He then collected all of his poetry from these periodicals and published “Poems” in 1836. On June 15, 1840, Holmes married Amelia Lee Jackson. The couple had three children. In 1846 he published a poem “Terpsichore,” followed by “Urania” in 1850 and “The Balance of Allusions,” shortly after. In the 1850 he turned his attention to prose, he published, "The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," in 1858.
In 1847, Holmes was hired as Parkman Professor of Anatomy and Physiology at Harvard Medical School, where he served as dean until 1853 and taught until 1882. Holmes invented the "American stereoscope" in 1860. “The Poet at the Breakfast Table,” was published in 1872. In 1876, Holmes published a biography of John Lothrop Motley. Holmes published many medical essays during his thirty-five years, teaching at Harvard Medical. In 1884 Holmes lost his youngest son. His wife passed in 1886 followed by his daughter a year later. Holmes despite failing health and poor eyesight continued his writing and published, “Over the Teacups,” the last of his table-talk books, in 1891.
Oliver Wendell Holmes died peacefully in his home on Sunday, October 7, 1894.
The Two Streams
by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Behold the rocky wall
That down its sloping sides
Pours the swift rain-drops, blending, as they fall,
In rushing river-tides!
Yon stream, whose sources run
Turned by a pebble's edge,
Is Athabasca, rolling toward the sun
Through the cleft mountain-ledge.
The slender rill had strayed,
But for the slanting stone,
To evening's ocean, with the tangled braid
Of foam-flecked Oregon.
So from the heights of Will
Life's parting stream descends,
And, as a moment turns its slender rill,
Each widening torrent bends, --
From the same cradle's side,
From the same mother's knee, --
One to long darkness and the frozen tide,
One to the Peaceful Sea!
Old Ironsides
by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar; --
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more.
Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee; --
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!
Oh, better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale!
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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A Damaged Life
I first saw her in an open lot,
at rest, with an air of dignity.
She watched the traffic pass
and panted in the summer heat.
Thoughts began to emerge,
my assumptions about her life.
Scars and mange and sharp, wary eyes
were defining signs that her existence
had seen more than its share of struggle.
I stopped and walked in her direction.
Thought I knew what was best,
my heart ached for her,
and I felt I could be her savior.
“Here, girl,” I gently called.
But she wouldn’t fall for that again.
Rising to her feet, she began to
walk away, cautiously glancing back.
How could I let her know
I wasn’t like those others,
to invest her confidence in me,
that I wouldn’t let her down?
I tried again, “Come here, sweet girl.”
I went back day after day,
took food and water in bowls
to entice her - bribery
to accept my earnest help.
But she had been hurt too much,
neglected too often to ever trust again.
She had no power other than
in her own internal strength and wits.
I still drive that nearby road
and look for her, always hoping.
But she’s long gone to who-knows-where.
I think of her often, damaged and gaunt,
but living with grace and on her own terms.
Honorable mention:
"god grant me grace"
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Poetry: February 26, 2020 Issue [#10045]
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