Æstivation Poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes

Æstivation

Rating: 2.6


An Unpublished Poem, by my late Latin Tutor.




In candent ire the solar splendor flames;
The foles, languescent, pend from arid rames;
His humid front the cive, anheling, wipes,
And dreams of erring on ventiferous ripes.

How dulce to vive occult to mortal eyes,
Dorm on the herb with none to supervise,
Carp the suave berries from thc crescent vine,
And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine!

To me, alas! no verdurous visions come,
Save yon exiguous pool's conferva-scum,--
No concave vast repeats the tender hue
That laves my milk-jug with celestial blue!

Me wretched! Let me curr to quercine shades!
Effund your albid hausts, lactiferous maids!
Oh, might I vole to some umbrageous clump,--
Depart,--be off,-excede,--evade,--crump!

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Kate Gladstone 18 January 2020

What you have as “crump” is actually “erump” in the poem.

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Neal Rubenstein 07 October 2006

I thought I had pointed out that the second word should be 'lambent.' 'Candent' is not a word.

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Kate Gladstone 18 January 2020

Of course “can dent” is not an ENGLISH word: and neither are “foles” or “dulce” or “vive” (elsewhere in the poem) . The whole point of the poem is that it’s a satire on over-Latinized English: the poet is intentionally (mis) treating Latin roots as English words.

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Kate Gladstone 18 January 2020

Neither are “foles” or “dulce” or “vive.” The point of the poem is that it’s a satire on over-latinized English: the poet is intentionally (mis) treating Latin roots as English words.

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