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ode to beauty. - 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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ode to beauty.

    • Who gave thee, O Beauty,
    • The keys of this breast,—
    • Too credulous lover
    • Of blest and unblest?
    • Say, when in lapsed ages
    • Thee knew I of old?
    • Or what was the service
    • For which I was sold?
    • When first my eyes saw thee,
    • I found me thy thrall,
    • By magical drawings,
    • Sweet tyrant of all!
    • I drank at thy fountain
    • False waters of thirst;
    • Thou intimate stranger,
    • Thou latest and first!
    • Thy dangerous glances
    • Make women of men;
    • New-born, we are melting
    • Into nature again.
    • Lavish, lavish promiser,
    • Nigh persuading gods to err!
    • Guest of million painted forms,
    • Which in turn thy glory warms!
    • The frailest leaf, the mossy bark,
    • The acorn's cup, the raindrop's arc,
    • The swinging spider's silver line,
    • The ruby of the drop of wine,
    • The shining pebble of the pond,
    • Thou inscribest with a bond,
    • In thy momentary play,
    • Would bankrupt nature to repay.
    • Ah, what avails it
    • To hide or to shun
    • Whom the Infinite One
    • Hath granted his throne?
    • The heaven high over
    • Is the deep's lover;
    • The sun and sea,
    • Informed by thee,
    • Before me run
    • And draw me on,
    • Yet fly me still,
    • As Fate refuses
    • To me the heart Fate for me chooses.
    • Is it that my opulent soul
    • Was mingled from the generous whole;
    • Sea-valleys and the deep of skies
    • Furnished several supplies;
    • And the sands whereof I'm made
    • Draw me to them, self-betrayed?
    • I turn the proud portfolio
    • Which holds the grand designs
    • Of Salvator, of Guercino,
    • And Piranesi's lines.
    • I hear the lofty pæans
    • Of the masters of the shell,
    • Who heard the starry music
    • And recount the numbers well;
    • Olympian bards who sung
    • Divine Ideas below,
    • Which always find us young
    • And always keep us so.
    • Oft, in streets or humblest places,
    • I detect far-wandered graces,
    • Which, from Eden wide astray,
    • In lowly homes have lost their way.
    • Thee gliding through the sea of form,
    • Like the lightning through the storm,
    • Somewhat not to be possessed,
    • Somewhat not to be caressed,
    • No feet so fleet could ever find,
    • No perfect form could ever bind.
    • Thou eternal fugitive,
    • Hovering over all that live,
    • Quick and skilful to inspire
    • Sweet, extravagant desire,
    • Starry space and lily-bell
    • Filling with thy roseate smell,
    • Wilt not give the lips to taste
    • Of the nectar which thou hast
    • All that's good and great with thee
    • Works in close conspiracy;
    • Thou hast bribed the dark and lonely
    • To report thy features only,
    • And the cold and purple morning
    • Itself with thoughts of thee adorning;
    • The leafy dell, the city mart,
    • Equal trophies of thine art;
    • E'en the flowing azure air
    • Thou hast touched for my despair;
    • And, if I languish into dreams,
    • Again I meet the ardent beams.
    • Queen of things! I dare not die
    • In Being's deeps past ear and eye;
    • Lest there I find the same deceive,
    • And be the sport of Fate forever.
    • Dread Power, but dear! if God thou be,
    • Unmake me quite, or give thyself to me!