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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472634" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To My Readers</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">NAY, blame me not; I might have spared<br>Your patience many a trivial verse,<br>Yet these my earlier welcome shared,<br>So, let the better shield the worse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And some might say, 'Those ruder songs<br>Had freshness which the new have lost;<br>To spring the opening leaf belongs,<br>The chestnut-burs await the frost.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When those I wrote, my locks were brown,<br>When these I write--ah, well a-day!<br>The autumn thistle's silvery down<br>Is not the purple bloom of May.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Go, little book, whose pages hold<br>Those garnered years in loving trust;<br>How long before your blue and gold<br>Shall fade and whiten in the dust?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O sexton of the alcoved tomb,<br>Where souls in leathern cerements lie,<br>Tell me each living poet's doom!<br>How long before his book shall die?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It matters little, soon or late,<br>A day, a month, a year, an age,--<br>I read oblivion in its date,<br>And Finis on its title-page.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Before we sighed, our griefs were told;<br>Before we smiled, our joys were sung;<br>And all our passions shaped of old<br>In accents lost to mortal tongue.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In vain a fresher mould we seek,--<br>Can all the varied phrases tell<br>That Babel's wandering children speak<br>How thrushes sing or lilacs smell?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Caged in the poet's lonely heart,<br>Love wastes unheard its tenderest tone;<br>The soul that sings must dwell apart,<br>Its inward melodies unknown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Deal gently with us, ye who read<br>Our largest hope is unfulfilled,--<br>The promise still outruns the deed,--<br>The tower, but not the spire, we build.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our whitest pearl we never find;<br>Our ripest fruit we never reach;<br>The flowering moments of the mind<br>Drop half their petals in our speech.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">These are my blossoms; if they wear<br>One streak of morn or evening's glow,<br>Accept them; but to me more fair<br>The buds of song that never blow.</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=472634" data-title="To My Readers de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="NAY, blame me not; I might have spared
Your patience many a trivial verse,
Yet these my earlier welcome shared,
So, let the better shield the worse.

And some might say, 'Those ruder songs
Had freshness which the new have lost;
To spring the openi..."></div>
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