Friday, February 13, 2009


Ralph Waldo Emerson

If the red slayer thinks he slays
Or if the slain thinks 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 they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
and I the hymn the Brahmin' sings.

The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.

No comments: