by Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809 - 1894)
The last reader
Language: English
I sometimes sit beneath a tree and read my own sweet songs; Though naught they may to others be, Each humble line prolongs a tone that might have passed away, But for that scarce remembered lay. They lie upon my pathway bleak, Those flowers that once ran wild, As on a father's careworn cheek The ringlets of his child; The golden mingling with the gray, and stealing half its snows away.
Authorship:
- by Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809 - 1894), from Poems, first published 1836 [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Charles Edward Ives (1874 - 1954), "The last reader", 1921. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 10
Word count: 71