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Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.

Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. Books

Physician

Poems 1

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Poems 2

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Medical Essays

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Over the Teacups

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A Mortal Antipathy

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Guardian Angel

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Songs in Many Keys

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THE

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The Guardian Angel

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“The Last Leaf I saw him once before, As he passed by the door, And again The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the Crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And looks at all he meets Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone." The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb. My grandmamma has said Poor old lady, she is dead Long ago That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow; But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here; But the old three-cornered hat, And the breeches, and all that, Are so queer! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring, Let them smile, as I do now, At the old forsaken bough Where I cling.”

“As we grow older we think more and more of old persons and of old things and places. As to old persons, it seems as if we never know how much they have to tell until we are old ourselves and they have been gone twenty or thirty years. Once in a while we come upon some survivor of his or her generation that we have overlooked, and feel as if we had recovered one of the lost books of Livy or fished up the golden candlestick from the ooze of the Tiber.”

“Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”

“Love is the master key that opens the gates of happiness.”

“The real religion of the world comes from women much more than from men - from mothers most of all, who carry the key of our souls in their bosoms.”

“To be seventy years young is sometimes far more cheerful and hopeful than to be forty years old.”