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Page 73 - IF the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near ; Shadow and sunlight are the same ; The vanished gods to me appear ; And one to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out ; When me they fly, I am the wings ; I am the doubter and the doubt, And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
Page 155 - THE mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel ; And the former called the latter " Little Prig. Bun replied, " You are doubtless very big ; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry. I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track ; Talents differ ; all is well and wisely put ; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither...
Page 16 - The word unto the prophet spoken Was writ on tables yet unbroken; The word by seers or sibyls told, In groves of oak, or fanes of gold, Still floats upon the morning wind, Still whispers to the willing mind. One accent of the Holy Ghost The heedless world hath never lost.
Page 58 - In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook. The purple petals, fallen in the pool. Made the black water with their beauty gay; Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Page 186 - TERMINUS. IT is time to be old, To take in sail : — The god of bounds, Who sets to seas a shore, Came to me in his fatal rounds, And said : ' No more ! No farther shoot Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root. Fancy departs : no more invent ; Contract thy firmament To compass of a tent.
Page 203 - My angel — his name is Freedom — Choose him to be your king; He shall cut pathways east and west, And fend you with his wing.
Page 13 - Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground; Over me soared the eternal sky, Full of light and of deity; Again I saw, again I heard. The rolling river, the morning bird; Beauty through my senses stole; I yielded myself to the perfect whole.
Page 70 - Tis mine, my children's and my name's. How sweet the west wind sounds in my own trees! How graceful climb those shadows on my hill! I fancy these pure waters and the flags Know me, as does my dog: we sympathize; And, I affirm, my actions smack of the soil.
Page 11 - She melted into purple cloud, She silvered in the moon ; She spired into a yellow flame ; She flowered in blossoms red; She flowed into a foaming wave ; She stood Monadnoc's head. Thorough a thousand voices Spoke the universal dame : " Who telleth one of my meanings,