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song of nature. - 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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song of nature.

    • Mine are the night and morning,
    • The pits of air, the gulf of space,
    • The sportive sun, the gibbous moon,
    • The innumerable days.
    • I hide in the solar glory,
    • I am dumb in the pealing song,
    • I rest on the pitch of the torrent,
    • In slumber I am strong.
    • No numbers have counted my tallies,
    • No tribes my house can fill,
    • I sit by the shining Fount of Life
    • And pour the deluge still;
    • And ever by delicate powers
    • Gathering along the centuries
    • From race on race the rarest flowers,
    • My wreath shall nothing miss.
    • And many a thousand summers
    • My gardens ripened well,
    • And light from meliorating stars
    • With firmer glory fell.
    • I wrote the past in characters
    • Of rock and fire the scroll,
    • The building in the coral sea,
    • The planting of the coal.
    • And thefts from satellites and rings
    • And broken stars I drew,
    • And out of spent and aged things
    • I formed the world anew;
    • What time the gods kept carnival,
    • Tricked out in star and flower,
    • And in cramp elf and saurian forms
    • They swathed their too much power.
    • Time and Thought were my surveyors,
    • They laid their courses well,
    • They boiled the sea, and piled the layers
    • Of granite, marl and shell.
    • But he, the man-child glorious,—
    • Where tarries he the while?
    • The rainbow shines his harbinger,
    • The sunset gleams his smile.
    • My boreal lights leap upward,
    • Forthright my planets roll,
    • And still the man-child is not born,
    • The summit of the whole.
    • Must time and tide forever run?
    • Will never my winds go sleep in the west?
    • Will never my wheels which whirl the sun
    • And satellites have rest?
    • Too much of donning and doffing,
    • Too slow the rainbow fades,
    • I weary of my robe of snow,
    • My leaves and my cascades;
    • I tire of globes and races,
    • Too long the game is played;
    • What without him is summer's pomp,
    • Or winter's frozen shade?
    • I travail in pain for him,
    • My creatures travail and wait;
    • His couriers come by squadrons,
    • He comes not to the gate.
    • Twice I have moulded an image,
    • And thrice outstretched my hand,
    • Made one of day and one of night
    • And one of the salt sea-sand.
    • One in a Judæan manger,
    • And one by Avon stream,
    • One over against the mouths of Nile,
    • And one in the Academe.
    • I moulded kings and saviors,
    • And bards o'er kings to rule;—
    • But fell the starry influence short,
    • The cup was never full.
    • Yet whirl the glowing wheels once more,
    • And mix the bowl again;
    • Seethe, Fate! the ancient elements,
    • Heat, cold, wet, dry, and peace, and pain.
    • Let war and trade and creeds and song
    • Blend, ripen race on race,
    • The sunburnt world a man shall breed
    • Of all the zones and countless days.
    • No ray is dimmed, no atom worn,
    • My oldest force is good as new,
    • And the fresh rose on yonder thorn
    • Gives back the bending heavens in dew.