The Adirondacs (Ralph Waldo Emerson Poems)
A JOURNAL.DEDICATED TO MY FELLOW-TRAVELLERS IN AUGUST, 1858.Wise and polite,--and if I drewTheir several portraits, you would ownChaucer had no ...
A JOURNAL.DEDICATED TO MY FELLOW-TRAVELLERS IN AUGUST, 1858.Wise and polite,--and if I drewTheir several portraits, you would ownChaucer had no ...
While wind and rain drive through the half-stripped trees,Fanners and flails go merrily in the barn.Each brook and river sweeps ...
Forth from Calais, at dawn of night, when sunset summer on autumn shone,Fared the steamer alert and loud through seas ...
THE fire-fly is heedlessly wandering about, Through field and through forest is winging his route, As free as the butterfly sporting in ...
We sat beneath tall waving trees that flung Their heavy shadows o'er the dewy grass. Over the waters, breaking at our feet, Quivered ...
The stormy Cape is passed; now the wide seaRolls with a prouder and a bolder swell;The joyous tar, chaunting "Ho, ...
Meantime, Arbaces with his captains sat, Anxiously waiting. Wherefore came not back Their heralds, was the wonder: but the truth ...
OF our Amusements ask you?--We amuseOurselves and friends with seaside walks and views,Or take a morning ride, a novel, or ...
OBSERVE that tall pale Veteran! what a lookOf shame and guilt!--who cannot read that book?Misery and mirth are blended in ...
Spirit of Dreams! When many a toilsome heightShut paradise from exiled Adam's sight,Two wedded powers were given thenceforth to strayOn ...
Athwart the sod which is treading for God * the poet paced with hissplendid eyes;Paradise-verdure he stately passes * to ...
'Tis done! Henceforth nor joy nor woe Can make or mar my fate; I gaze around, above, below, ...
Thou dost to rich attire a grace,To let it deck itself with thee,And teachest pomp strange cunning waysTo be thought ...
The pendulum, with brazen din,Proclaims the midnight; we beginTo call to mind, ironically,What uses we have made of thisDead day ...
233The Lamp burns sure-within-Tho' Serfs-supply the Oil-It matters not the busy Wick-At her phosphoric toil!The Slave-forgets-to fill-The Lamp-burns golden-on-Unconscious that ...
The Lamp burns sure -- within -- Tho' Serfs -- supply the Oil -- It matters not the busy Wick ...
Thou dost to rich attire a grace, To let it deck itself with thee, And teachest pomp strange cunning ways ...
Forth from Calais, at dawn of night, when sunset summer on autumn shone, Fared the steamer alert and loud through ...
EXULT MY MUSE! exult to see Each envious, waspish, jealous thing, Around its harmless venom fling, And dart its powerless ...
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