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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472482" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>My Annual</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">How long will this harp which you once loved to hear<br>Cheat your lips of a smile or your eyes of a tear?<br>How long stir the echoes it wakened of old,<br>While its strings were unbroken, untarnished its gold?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dear friends of my boyhood, my words do you wrong;<br>The heart, the heart only, shall throb in my song;<br>It reads the kind answer that looks from your eyes,--<br>'We will bid our old harper play on till he dies.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though Youth, the fair angel that looked o'er the strings,<br>Has lost the bright glory that gleamed on his wings,<br>Though the freshness of morning has passed from its tone<br>It is still the old harp that was always your own.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I claim not its music,--each note it affords<br>I strike from your heart-strings, that lend me its chords;<br>I know you will listen and love to the last,<br>For it trembles and thrills with the voice of your past.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, brothers! dear brothers! the harp that I hold<br>No craftsman could string and no artisan mould;<br>He shaped it, He strung it, who fashioned the lyres<br>That ring with the hymns of the seraphim choirs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not mine are the visions of beauty it brings,<br>Not mine the faint fragrance around it that clings;<br>Those shapes are the phantoms of years that are fled,<br>Those sweets breathe from roses your summers have shed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each hour of the past lends its tribute to this,<br>Till it blooms like a bower in the Garden of Bliss;<br>The thorn and the thistle may grow as they will,<br>Where Friendship unfolds there is Paradise still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bird wanders careless while summer is green,<br>The leaf-hidden cradle that rocked him unseen;<br>When Autumn's rude fingers the woods have undressed,<br>The boughs may look bare, but they show him his nest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Too precious these moments! the lustre they fling<br>Is the light of our year, is the gem of its ring,<br>So brimming with sunshine, we almost forget<br>The rays it has lost, and its border of jet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While round us the many-hued halo is shed,<br>How dear are the living, how near are the dead!<br>One circle, scarce broken, these waiting below,<br>Those walking the shores where the asphodels blow!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not life shall enlarge it nor death shall divide,--<br>No brother new-born finds his place at my side;<br>No titles shall freeze us, no grandeurs infest,<br>His Honor, His Worship, are boys like the rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some won the world's homage, their names we hold dear,--<br>But Friendship, not Fame, is the countersign here;<br>Make room by the conqueror crowned in the strife<br>For the comrade that limps from the battle of life!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What tongue talks of battle? Too long we have heard<br>In sorrow, in anguish, that terrible word;<br>It reddened the sunshine, it crimsoned the wave,<br>It sprinkled our doors with the blood of our brave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Peace, Peace comes at last, with her garland of white;<br>Peace broods in all hearts as we gather to-night;<br>The blazon of Union spreads full in the sun;<br>We echo its words,--We are one! We are one!</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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Cheat your lips of a smile or your eyes of a tear?
How long stir the echoes it wakened of old,
While its strings were unbroken, untarnished its gold?

Dear friends of my boyhood, my words do you..."></div>
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