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Oliver Wendell Holmes - A Noontide LyricOliver Wendell Holmes - A Noontide Lyric
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THE dinner-bell, the dinner-bell Is ringing loud and clear; Through hill and plain, through street and lane, It echoes far and near; From curtained hall and whitewashed stall, Wherever men can hide, Like bursting waves from ocean caves, They float upon the tide. I smell the smell of roasted meat! I hear the hissing fry The beggars know where they can go, But where, oh where shall I? At twelve o`clock men took my hand, At two they only stare, And eye me with a fearful look, As if I were a bear! The poet lays his laurels down, And hastens to his greens; The happy tailor quits his goose, To riot on his beans; The weary cobbler snaps his thread, The printer leaves his pi; His very devil hath a home, But what, oh what have I? Methinks I hear an angel voice, That softly seems to say "Pale stranger, all may yet be well, Then wipe thy tears away; Erect thy head, and cock thy hat, And follow me afar, And thou shalt have a jolly meal, And charge it at the bar." I hear the voice! I go! I go! Prepare your meat and wine! They little heed their future need Who pay not when they dine. Give me to-day the rosy bowl, Give me one golden dream,-- To-morrow kick away the stool, And dangle from the beam!
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