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dirge. concord, 1838. - 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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dirge.
concord, 1838.

    • I reached the middle of the mount
    • Up which the incarnate soul must climb,
    • And paused for them, and looked around,
    • With me who walked through space and time.
    • Five rosy boys with morning light
    • Had leaped from one fair mother's arms,
    • Fronted the sun with hope as bright,
    • And greeted God with childhood's psalms.
    • Knows he who tills this lonely field
    • To reap its scanty corn,
    • What mystic fruit his acres yield
    • At midnight and at morn?
    • In the long sunny afternoon
    • The plain was full of ghosts;
    • I wandered up, I wandered down,
    • Beset by pensive hosts.
    • The winding Concord gleamed below,
    • Pouring as wide a flood
    • As when my brothers, long ago,
    • Came with me to the wood.
    • But they are gone,—the holy ones
    • Who trod with me this lovely vale;
    • The strong, star-bright companions
    • Are silent, low and pale.
    • My good, my noble, in their prime,
    • Who made this world the feast it was,
    • Who learned with me the lore of time,
    • Who loved this dwelling-place!
    • They took this valley for their toy,
    • They played with it in every mood;
    • A cell for prayer, a hall for joy,—
    • They treated nature as they would.
    • They colored the horizon round;
    • Stars flamed and faded as they bade,
    • All echoes hearkened for their sound,—
    • They made the woodlands glad or mad.
    • I touch this flower of silken leaf,
    • Which once our childhood knew;
    • Its soft leaves wound me with a grief
    • Whose balsam never grew.
    • Hearken to yon pine-warbler
    • Singing aloft in the tree!
    • Hearest thou, O traveller,
    • What he singeth to me?
    • Not unless God made sharp thine ear
    • With sorrow such as mine,
    • Out of that delicate lay could'st thou
    • Its heavy tale divine.
    • ‘Go, lonely man,’ it saith;
    • 'They loved thee from their birth;
    • Their hands were pure, and pure their faith,—
    • There are no such hearts on earth.
    • ‘Ye drew one mother's milk,
    • One chamber held ye all;
    • A very tender history
    • Did in your childhood fall.
    • ‘You cannot unlock your heart,
    • The key is gone with them;
    • The silent organ loudest chants
    • The master's requiem,’