. One hundred and one famous poems, with a prose supplement. in my boyhood, and could beThe comrade of thy wanderings over heaven,As then, when to outstrip thy skyey speedScarce seemd a vision,—I would ner have strivenAs thus with thee in prayer in my sore ! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!A heavy weight of hours has chaind and bowdOne too like thee—tameless, and swift, and proud. Make me thy lyre, evn as the forest is:What if my leaves are falling like its own!The tumult of thy mighty harmoniesWill take from both a deep autumnal tone,Sweet tho
. One hundred and one famous poems, with a prose supplement. in my boyhood, and could beThe comrade of thy wanderings over heaven,As then, when to outstrip thy skyey speedScarce seemd a vision,—I would ner have strivenAs thus with thee in prayer in my sore ! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!A heavy weight of hours has chaind and bowdOne too like thee—tameless, and swift, and proud. Make me thy lyre, evn as the forest is:What if my leaves are falling like its own!The tumult of thy mighty harmoniesWill take from both a deep autumnal tone,Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit spirit! be thou me, impetuous one!Drive my dead thoughts over the universe,Like witherd leaves, to quicken a new birth;And, by the incantation of this verse,Scatter, as from an unextinguishd hearthAshes and sparks, my words among mankind!Be through my lips to unawakend earthThe trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? Pa g e T w o n t y )tte ^imtitr^it a«u ©we Jfotmstts ^netttB. The Snowstorm Ralph Waldo Emerson(Born May 25, T803; Died April 27. T882 Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,Arrives the snow, and, driving oer the fields,Seems nowhere to alight: the whited airHides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,And veils the farmhouse at the gardens sled and traveler stopped, the couriers feetDelayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sitAround the radiant fireplace, enclosedIn a tumultuous privacy of storm. Come, see the north winds of an unseen quarry evermoreFurnished with tile, the fierce artificerCurves his white bastions with projected roofRound every windward stake or tree or , the myriad-handed, his wild workSo fanciful, so savage, naught cares heFor number or proportion. MockinglyOn coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;Fills up the farmers lane from wall to wall,Maugre the farmers sighs; and at the ga
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1920, booksubjectenglishpoetry, bookye
