Through a circle that ever returneth in To the self-same spot, And much of Madness, and more of Sin, But see, amid the mimic rout, A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out It writhes!-it writhes!-with mortal pangs, Out-out are the lights-out all! And over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm; And the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, 'Man,' And its hero the Conqueror Worm. TO ONE IN PARADISE. HOU wast that all to me, love, THOU For which my soul did pine A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine. Ah, dream too bright to last! A voice from out the Future cries 'On! on!'-but o'er the Past (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast! For alas! alas! with me, The light of Life is o'er! 'No more-no more-no more-' (Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore) Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, Or the stricken eagle soar! And all my days are trances, TO HELEN. HELEN, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche THE HAUNTED PALACE. N the greenest of our valleys IN By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace- Never seraph spread a pinion Banners yellow, glorious, golden, And every gentle air that dallied, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, Wanderers in that happy valley, Spirits moving musically, To a lute's well-tunèd law, In state his glory well befitting, And all with pearl and ruby glowing Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty In voices of surpassing beauty, The wit and wisdom of their king. But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Of the old time entombed. And travellers, now, within that valley, While, like a ghastly rapid river, A hideous throng rush out forever And laugh-but smile no more. RALPH WALDO EMERSON. Born 1803. Died 1882. DAYS. AMSELS of Time, the hypocritic Days, DAMSE Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, And marching single in an endless file, Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. To each they offer gifts after his will, Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all, I, in my pleachèd garden, watched the pomp, Forgot my morning wishes, hastily Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day Turned and departed silent. I, too late, Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn. DUTY. N an age of fops and toys, IN Wanting wisdom, void of right, Who shall nerve heroic boys To hazard all in Freedom's fight,— Break sharply off their jolly games, Forsake their comrades gay, And quit proud homes and youthful dames, Dd |