 | Poems |  |
R. W. EMERSON.
There is a tall grey cliff before mine eyes,The haughty trees, wind-swept, bow down to it;
Its crest is with the coming day-time lit,
But at its foot the nestling wild-flower lies;
All forest breaths below like incense rise,
And the shy birds around it sing and flit.
So standeth he 'mid men, supremely wise,
Strong, and uplifted, yet aware of all
That Nature hides from common mortal eyes:
The chariest bloom, the moss most fair and small,
The sun-born insect that with night must fall,
The majesty of days that set and rise,
And that deep thought that in the human breast
Holds him for lifelong friend who knows and brings it rest.
| Poems | |