<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409253" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Thomas Bailey Aldrich</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I </div><div style="margin:10px 0">BIRTHDAY VERSES </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dear Aldrich, now November's mellow days<br>Have brought another Festa round to you,<br>You can't refuse a loving-cup of praise<br>From friends the fleeting years have bound to you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here come your Marjorie Daw, your dear Bad Boy,<br>Prudence, and Judith the Bethulian,<br>And many more, to wish you birthday joy,<br>And sunny hours, and sky caerulean! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your children all, they hurry to your den,<br>With wreaths of honour they have won for you,<br>To merry-make your threescore years and ten.<br>You, old? Why, life has just begun for you! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's many a reader whom your silver songs<br>And crystal stories cheer in loneliness.<br>What though the newer writers come in throngs?<br>You're sure to keep your charm of only-ness. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You do your work with careful, loving touch, --<br>An artist to the very core of you, --<br>You know the magic spell of &quot;not-too-much &quot;:<br>We read, -- and wish that there was more of you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And more there is: for while we love your books<br>Because their subtle skill is part of you;<br>We love you better, for our friendship looks<br>Behind them to the human heart of you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">November 24, 1906. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II </div><div style="margin:10px 0">MEMORIAL SONNET </div><div style="margin:10px 0">THIS is the house where little Aldrich read <br>The early pages of Life's wonder-book: <br>With boyish pleasure, in this ingle-nook <br>He watched the drift-wood fire of Fancy spread <br>Bright colours on the pictures, blue and red:<br>Boy-like he skipped the longer words, and took<br>His happy way, with searching, dreamful look <br>Among the deeper things more simply said. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then, came his turn to write: and still the flame<br>Of Fancy played through all the tales he told, <br>And still he won the laurelled poet's fame<br>With simple words wrought into rhymes of gold.<br>Look, here's the face to which this house is frame, --<br>A man too wise to let his heart grow old!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Van+Dyke">Henry Van Dyke</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409253" data-title="Thomas Bailey Aldrich de Henry Van Dyke" data-description="I BIRTHDAY VERSES Dear Aldrich, now November's mellow days Have brought another Festa round to you, You can't refuse a loving-cup of praise From friends the fleeting years have bound to you. Here come your Marjorie Daw, your dear Bad Boy, Pr..."></div> </div> </div>

solid border dashed border dotted border double border groove border ridge border inset border outset border no border blue green red purple cyan gold silver black