Poems by Ralph Waldo Emerson Part 23

I see the inundation sweet, I hear the spending of the stream Through years, through men, through Nature fleet, Through love and thought, through power and dream.

Musketaquit, a goblin strong, Of shard and flint makes jewels gay; They lose their grief who hear his song, And where he winds is the day of day.

So forth and brighter fares my stream,-- Who drink it shall not thirst again; No darkness stains its equal gleam.

And ages drop in it like rain.

WALDEINSAMKEIT

I do not count the hours I spend In wandering by the sea; The forest is my loyal friend, Like G.o.d it useth me.

In plains that room for shadows make Of skirting hills to lie, Bound in by streams which give and take Their colors from the sky;

Or on the mountain-crest sublime, Or down the oaken glade, O what have I to do with time?

For this the day was made.

Cities of mortals woe-begone Fantastic care derides, But in the serious landscape lone Stern benefit abides.

Sheen will tarnish, honey cloy, And merry is only a mask of sad, But, sober on a fund of joy, The woods at heart are glad.

There the great Planter plants Of fruitful worlds the grain, And with a million spells enchants The souls that walk in pain.

Still on the seeds of all he made The rose of beauty burns; Through times that wear and forms that fade, Immortal youth returns.

The black ducks mounting from the lake, The pigeon in the pines, The bittern's boom, a desert make Which no false art refines.

Down in yon watery nook, Where bearded mists divide, The gray old G.o.ds whom Chaos knew, The sires of Nature, hide.

Aloft, in secret veins of air, Blows the sweet breath of song, O, few to scale those uplands dare, Though they to all belong!

See thou bring not to field or stone The fancies found in books; Leave authors' eyes, and fetch your own, To brave the landscape's looks.

Oblivion here thy wisdom is, Thy thrift, the sleep of cares; For a proud idleness like this Crowns all thy mean affairs.

TERMINUS

It is time to be old, To take in sail:-- The G.o.d of bounds, Who sets to seas a sh.o.r.e, Came to me in his fatal rounds, And said: 'No more!

No farther shoot Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root.

Fancy departs: no more invent; Contract thy firmament To compa.s.s of a tent.

There's not enough for this and that, Make thy option which of two; Economize the failing river, Not the less revere the Giver, Leave the many and hold the few.

Timely wise accept the terms, Soften the fall with wary foot; A little while Still plan and smile, And,--fault of novel germs,-- Mature the unfallen fruit.

Curse, if thou wilt, thy sires, Bad husbands of their fires, Who, when they gave thee breath, Failed to bequeath The needful sinew stark as once, The Baresark marrow to thy bones, But left a legacy of ebbing veins, Inconstant heat and nerveless reins,-- Amid the Muses, left thee deaf and dumb, Amid the gladiators, halt and numb.'

As the bird trims her to the gale, I trim myself to the storm of time, I man the rudder, reef the sail, Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime: 'Lowly faithful, banish fear, Right onward drive unharmed; The port, well worth the cruise, is near, And every wave is charmed.'

THE NUN'S ASPIRATION

The yesterday doth never smile, The day goes drudging through the while, Yet, in the name of G.o.dhead, I The morrow front, and can defy; Though I am weak, yet G.o.d, when prayed, Cannot withhold his conquering aid.

Ah me! it was my childhood's thought, If He should make my web a blot On life's fair picture of delight, My heart's content would find it right.

But O, these waves and leaves,-- When happy stoic Nature grieves, No human speech so beautiful As their murmurs mine to lull.

On this altar G.o.d hath built I lay my vanity and guilt; Nor me can Hope or Pa.s.sion urge Hearing as now the lofty dirge Which blasts of Northern mountains hymn, Nature's funeral high and dim,-- Sable pageantry of clouds, Mourning summer laid in shrouds.

Many a day shall dawn and die, Many an angel wander by, And pa.s.sing, light my sunken turf Moist perhaps by ocean surf, Forgotten amid splendid tombs, Yet wreathed and hid by summer blooms.

On earth I dream;--I die to be: Time, shake not thy bald head at me.

I challenge thee to hurry past Or for my turn to fly too fast.

Think me not numbed or halt with age, Or cares that earth to earth engage, Caught with love's cord of twisted beams, Or mired by climate's gross extremes.

I tire of shams, I rush to be: I pa.s.s with yonder comet free,-- Pa.s.s with the comet into s.p.a.ce Which mocks thy aeons to embrace; Aeons which tardily unfold Realm beyond realm,--extent untold; No early morn, no evening late,-- Realms self-upheld, disdaining Fate, Whose s.h.i.+ning sons, too great for fame, Never heard thy weary name; Nor lives the tragic bard to say How drear the part I held in one, How lame the other limped away.

APRIL

The April winds are magical And thrill our tuneful frames; The garden walks are pa.s.sional To bachelors and dames.

The hedge is gemmed with diamonds, The air with Cupids full, The cobweb clues of Rosamond Guide lovers to the pool.

Each dimple in the water, Each leaf that shades the rock Can cozen, pique and flatter, Can parley and provoke.

Goodfellow, Puck and goblins, Know more than any book.

Down with your doleful problems, And court the sunny brook.

The south-winds are quick-witted, The schools are sad and slow, The masters quite omitted The lore we care to know.

MAIDEN SPEECH OF THE AEOLIAN HARP

Soft and softlier hold me, friends!

Thanks if your genial care Unbind and give me to the air.

Keep your lips or finger-tips For flute or spinet's dancing chips; I await a tenderer touch, I ask more or not so much: Give me to the atmosphere,-- Where is the wind, my brother,--where?

Lift the sash, lay me within, Lend me your ears, and I begin.

For gentle harp to gentle hearts The secret of the world imparts; And not to-day and not to-morrow Can drain its wealth of hope and sorrow; But day by day, to loving ear Unlocks new sense and loftier cheer.

I've come to live with you, sweet friends, This home my minstrel-journeyings ends.

Many and subtle are my lays, The latest better than the first, For I can mend the happiest days And charm the anguish of the worst.

CUPIDO

The solid, solid universe Is pervious to Love; With bandaged eyes he never errs, Around, below, above.

His blinding light He flingeth white On G.o.d's and Satan's brood, And reconciles By mystic wiles The evil and the good.

THE PAST

The debt is paid, The verdict said, The Furies laid, The plague is stayed.

All fortunes made; Turn the key and bolt the door, Sweet is death forevermore.