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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472419" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>For The Centennial Dinner</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">OF THE PROPRIETORS OF BOSTON PIER, OR THE LONG WHARF,<br>APRIL 16, 1873</div><div style="margin:10px 0">DEAR friends, we are strangers; we never before<br>Have suspected what love to each other we bore;<br>But each of us all to his neighbor is dear,<br>Whose heart has a throb for our time-honored pier.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As I look on each brother proprietor's face,<br>I could open my arms in a loving embrace;<br>What wonder that feelings, undreamed of so long,<br>Should burst all at once in a blossom of song!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While I turn my fond glance on the monarch of piers,<br>Whose throne has stood firm through his eightscore of years,<br>My thought travels backward and reaches the day<br>When they drove the first pile on the edge of the bay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>See! The joiner, the shipwright, the smith from his forge,<br>The redcoat, who shoulders his gun for King George,<br>The shopman, the 'prentice, the boys from the lane,<br>The parson, the doctor with gold-headed cane,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come trooping down King Street, where now may be seen<br>The pulleys and ropes of a mighty machine;<br>The weight rises slowly; it drops with a thud;<br>And, to! the great timber sinks deep in the mud!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They are gone, the stout craftsmen that hammered the piles,<br>And the square-toed old boys in the three-cornered tiles;<br>The breeches, the buckles, have faded from view,<br>And the parson's white wig and the ribbon-tied queue.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The redcoats have vanished; the last grenadier<br>Stepped into the boat from the end of our pier;<br>They found that our hills were not easy to climb,<br>And the order came, 'Countermarch, double-quick time!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They are gone, friend and foe,--anchored fast at the pier,<br>Whence no vessel brings back its pale passengers here;<br>But our wharf, like a lily, still floats on the flood,<br>Its breast in the sunshine, its roots in the mud.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who--who that has loved it so long and so well--<br>The flower of his birthright would barter or sell?<br>No: pride of the bay, while its ripples shall run,<br>You shall pass, as an heirloom, from father to son!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Let me part with the acres my grandfather bought,<br>With the bonds that my uncle's kind legacy brought,<br>With my bank-shares,--old 'Union,' whose ten per cent stock<br>Stands stiff through the storms as the Eddystone rock;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With my rights (or my wrongs) in the 'Erie,'--alas!<br>With my claims on the mournful and 'Mutual Mass.;'<br>With my 'Phil. Wil. and Balt.,' with my 'C. B. and Q.;'<br>But I never, no never, will sell out of you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We drink to thy past and thy future to-day,<br>Strong right arm of Boston, stretched out o'er the bay.<br>May the winds waft the wealth of all nations to thee,<br>And thy dividends flow like the waves of the sea!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oliver+Wendell+Holmes">Oliver Wendell Holmes</a><div class=q>
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<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=472419" data-title="For The Centennial Dinner de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="OF THE PROPRIETORS OF BOSTON PIER, OR THE LONG WHARF,
APRIL 16, 1873

DEAR friends, we are strangers; we never before
Have suspected what love to each other we bore;
But each of us all to his neighbor is dear,
Whose heart has a throb for our time-..."></div>
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