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SONGS FOR BOYHOOD.
THE LAST LEAF.
Oliver Wendell Holmes.
I saw him once before, As he passed by the door;
And again The pavement-stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground,
With his cane.
They say that in his prime, Ere the pruuing-knife of Time
Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the crier on his round
Through the town.
But now be walks the streets, Aud he looks at all he meets,
Sad and wan ; And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said,
" They are gone."
The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom; And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.
My grandmamma has said� Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago� That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow.
But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff; And a crook is in his back. Aud a melancholy crack
In his laugh.
I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin