R[alph] W[aldo] Emerson
Song of NatureMine 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 to race the rarest flowers, My wealth shall nothing miss.And many thousand summers My apples ripened well And light from meteorating stars With firmer glory fell.One in a Judean 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 oer 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 painLet 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. R W. Emerson#9190
1872 Feb 5
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Reel 02, Image 0679
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