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alphonso of castile. - Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, vol. 9 (Poems) [1909]

Edition used:

The Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, in 12 vols. Fireside Edition (Boston and New York, 1909).

Part of: The Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, in 12 vols. (Fireside Edition).

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alphonso of castile.

    • I, Alphonso, live and learn,
    • Seeing Nature go astern.
    • Things deteriorate in kind;
    • Lemons run to leaves and rind;
    • Meagre crop of figs and limes;
    • Shorter days and harder times.
    • Flowering April cools and dies
    • In the insufficient skies.
    • Imps, at high midsummer, blot
    • Half the sun's disk with a spot;
    • 'T will not now avail to tan
    • Orange cheek or skin of man.
    • Roses bleach, the goats are dry,
    • Lisbon quakes, the people cry.
    • Yon pale, scrawny fisher fools,
    • Gaunt as bitterns in the pools,
    • Are no brothers of my blood;—
    • They discredit Adamhood.
    • Eyes of gods! ye must have seen,
    • O'er your ramparts as ye lean,
    • The general debility;
    • Of genius the sterility;
    • Mighty projects countermanded;
    • Rash ambition, brokenhanded;
    • Pony man and scentless rose Tormenting Pan to double the dose,
    • Rebuild or ruin: either fill
    • Of vital force the wasted rill,
    • Or tumble all again in heap
    • To weltering chaos and to sleep.
    • Say, Seigniors, are the old Niles dry,
    • Which fed the veins of earth and sky,
    • That mortals miss the loyal heats,
    • Which drove them erst to social feats;
    • Now, to a savage aelfness grown,
    • Think nature barely serves for one;
    • With science poorly mask their hurt,
    • And vex the gods with question pert,
    • Immensely curious whether you
    • Still are rulers, or mildew?
    • Masters, I'm in pain with you;
    • Masters, I'll be plain with you;
    • In my palace of Castile,
    • I, a king, for kings can feel.
    • There my thoughts the matter roll,
    • And solve and oft resolve the whole.
    • And, for I'm styled Alphonse the Wise,
    • Ye shall not fail for sound advice.
    • Before ye want a drop of rain,
    • Hear the sentiment of Spain.
    • You have tried famine: no more try it;
    • Fly us now with a full diet;
    • Teach your pupils now with plenty,
    • For one sun supply us twenty.
    • I have thought it thoroughly over,—
    • State of hermit, state of lover;
    • We must have society,
    • We cannot spare variety.
    • Hear you, then, celestial fellows!
    • Fits not to be overzealous;
    • Steads not to work on the clean jump,
    • Nor wine nor brains perpetual pump.
    • Men and gods are too extense;
    • Could you slacken and condense?
    • Your rank overgrowths reduce
    • Till your kinds abound with juice?
    • Earth, crowded, cries, ‘Too many men!’
    • My counsel is, kill nine in ten,
    • And bestow the shares of all
    • On the remnant decimal.
    • Add their nine lives to this cat;
    • Stuff their nine brains in one hat;
    • Make his frame and forces square
    • With the labors he must dare;
    • Thatch his flesh, and even his years
    • With the marble which he rears.
    • There, growing slowly old at ease,
    • No faster than his planted trees,
    • He may, by warrant of his age,
    • In schemes of broader scope engage.
    • So shall ye have a man of the sphere
    • Fit to grace the solar year.