Poems by Ralph Waldo Emerson Part 37

How much, preventing G.o.d, how much I owe To the defences thou hast round me set; Example, custom, fear, occasion slow,-- These scorned bondmen were my parapet.

I dare not peep over this parapet To gauge with glance the roaring gulf below, The depths of sin to which I had descended, Had not these me against myself defended.

INSIGHT

Power that by obedience grows, Knowledge which its source not knows, Wave which severs whom it bears From the things which he compares, Adding wings through things to range, To his own blood harsh and strange.

PAN

O what are heroes, prophets, men, But pipes through which the breath of Pan doth blow A momentary music. Being's tide Swells. .h.i.therward, and myriads of forms Live, robed with beauty, painted by the sun; Their dust, pervaded by the nerves of G.o.d, Throbs with an overmastering energy Knowing and doing. Ebbs the tide, they lie White hollow sh.e.l.ls upon the desert sh.o.r.e, But not the less the eternal wave rolls on To animate new millions, and exhale Races and planets, its enchanted foam.

MONADNOC FROM AFAR

Dark flower of Ches.h.i.+re garden, Red evening duly dyes Thy sombre head with rosy hues To fix far-gazing eyes.

Well the Planter knew how strongly Works thy form on human thought; I muse what secret purpose had he To draw all fancies to this spot.

SEPTEMBER

In the turbulent beauty Of a gusty Autumn day, Poet on a sunny headland Sighed his soul away.

Farms the sunny landscape dappled, Swandown clouds dappled the farms, Cattle lowed in mellow distance Where far oaks outstretched their arms.

Sudden gusts came full of meaning, All too much to him they said, Oh, south winds have long memories, Of that be none afraid.

I cannot tell rude listeners Half the tell-tale South-wind said,-- 'T would bring the blushes of yon maples To a man and to a maid.

EROS

They put their finger on their lip, The Powers above: The seas their islands clip, The moons in ocean dip, They love, but name not love.

OCTOBER

October woods wherein The boy's dream comes to pa.s.s, And Nature squanders on the boy her pomp, And crowns him with a more than royal crown, And unimagined splendor waits his steps.

The gazing urchin walks through tents of gold, Through crimson chambers, porphyry and pearl, Pavilion on pavilion, garlanded, Incensed and starred with lights and airs and shapes, Color and sound, music to eye and ear, Beyond the best conceit of pomp or power.

PETER'S FIELD

[Knows he who tills this lonely field To reap its scanty corn, What mystic fruit his acres yield At midnight and at morn?]

That field by spirits bad and good, By h.e.l.l and Heaven is haunted, And every rood in the hemlock wood I know is ground enchanted.

[In the long sunny afternoon The plain was full of ghosts: I wandered up, I wandered down, Beset by pensive hosts.]

For in those lonely grounds the sun s.h.i.+nes not as on the town, In nearer arcs his journeys run, And nearer stoops the moon.

There in a moment I have seen The buried Past arise; The fields of Thessaly grew green, Old G.o.ds forsook the skies.

I cannot publish in my rhyme What pranks the greenwood played; It was the Carnival of time, And Ages went or stayed.

To me that spectral nook appeared The mustering Day of Doom, And round me swarmed in shadowy troop Things past and things to come.

The darkness haunteth me elsewhere; There I am full of light; In every whispering leaf I hear More sense than sages write.

Underwoods were full of pleasance, All to each in kindness bend, And every flower made obeisance As a man unto his friend.

Far seen, the river glides below, Tossing one sparkle to the eyes: I catch thy meaning, wizard wave; The River of my Life replies.

MUSIC

Let me go where'er I will, I hear a sky-born music still: It sounds from all things old, It sounds from all things young, From all that's fair, from all that's foul, Peals out a cheerful song.

It is not only in the rose, It is not only in the bird, Not only where the rainbow glows, Nor in the song of woman heard, But in the darkest, meanest things There alway, alway something sings.

'T is not in the high stars alone, Nor in the cup of budding flowers, Nor in the redbreast's mellow tone, Nor in the bow that smiles in showers, But in the mud and sc.u.m of things There alway, alway something sings.

THE WALK

A Queen rejoices in her peers, And wary Nature knows her own By court and city, dale and down, And like a lover volunteers, And to her son will treasures more And more to purpose freely pour In one wood walk, than learned men Can find with gla.s.s in ten times ten.

COSMOS

Who saw the hid beginnings When Chaos and Order strove, Or who can date the morning.

The purple flaming of love?

I saw the hid beginnings When Chaos and Order strove, And I can date the morning prime And purple flame of love.

Song breathed from all the forest, The total air was fame; It seemed the world was all torches That suddenly caught the flame.