The Early Poems of Ralph Waldo Emerson

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T.Y. Crowell, 1899 - 220 pages
 

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Page 53 - Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! I never thought to ask, I never knew: But, in my simple ignorance, suppose The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.
Page 11 - The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, Running over the club-moss burrs; I inhaled the violet's breath; Around me stood the oaks and firs; Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground; Over me soared the eternal sky. Full of light and of deity; Again I saw, again I heard, The rolling river, the morning bird; Beauty through my senses stole; I yielded myself to the perfect whole.
Page 58 - ANNOUNCED by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight : the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Page 8 - Uprose the merry Sphinx, And crouched no more in stone ; She melted into purple cloud, She silvered in the moon ; She spired into a yellow flame ; She flowered in blossoms red ; She flowed into a foaming wave ; She stood Monadnoc's head. Thorough a thousand voices Spoke the universal dame : " Who telleth one of my meanings, Is master of all I am.
Page 218 - The mysteries of nature's heart, — And though no muse can these impart, Throb thine with nature's throbbing breast, And all is clear from east to west...
Page 48 - Where are these men? Asleep beneath their grounds: And strangers, fond as they, their furrows plough. Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs; Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet Clear of the grave. They added ridge to valley, brook to pond, And sighed for all that bounded their domain; "This suits me for a pasture ; that's my park ; We must have clay, lime, gravel, granite-ledge, And misty lowland, where to go for peat.
Page 56 - Wiser far than human seer, Yellow-breeched philosopher ! Seeing only what is fair, Sipping only what is sweet, Thou dost mock at fate and care, Leave the chaff and take the wheat..
Page 54 - Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion! Sailor of the atmosphere, Swimmer through the waves of air, Voyager of light and noon, Epicurean of June, Wait I prithee, till I come Within ear-shot of thy hum, — All without is martyrdom.

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