here are a few stanzas from a very long spring poem by ralph waldo emerson . .
may-day
by ralph waldo emerson
when late i walked, in earlier days,
all was stiff and stark;
knee-deep snows choked all the ways,
in the sky no spark;
firm-braced i sought my ancient woods,
struggling through the drifted roads;
the whited desert knew me not,
snow-dridges masked each darling spot;
the summer dells, by genius haunted,
one arctic moon had disenchanted.
all the sweet secrets therein hid
by fancy, ghastly spells undid.
eldest mason, frost, had piled
swift cathedrals in the wild;
the piny hosts were sheeted ghosts
in the star-lit minster aisled.
i found no joy: the icy wind
might rule the forest to his mind.
who would freeze on frozen lakes?
back to books and sheltered home,
and wood-fire flickering on the walls,
to hear, when, 'mid our talk and games,
without the baffled north-wind calls.
but soft! a sultry morning breaks;
the ground-pines wash their rusty green,
the maple-tops their crimson tint,
on the soft path each track is seen,
the girl's foot leaves its neater print.
the pebble loosened from the frost
asks of the urchin to be tost.
in flint and marble beats a heart,
the kind earth takes her children's part,
the green lane is the school-boy's friend,
low leaves his quarrel apprehend,
the fresh ground loves his top and ball,
the air rings jocund to his call,
the brimming brook invites a leap,
he dives the hollow, climbs the steep.
the youth sees omens where he goes,
and speaks all languages the rose,
the wood-fly mocks with tiny voice
the far halloo of human voice;
the perfumed berry on the spray
smacks of faint memories far away.
a subtle chain of countless rings
the next into the farthest brings,
and, striving to be man, the worm
mounts through all the spires of form.
. . . .
for thou, o spring! canst renovate
all that high God did first create.
be still his arm and architect,
rebuild the ruin, mend defect;
chemist to vamp old worlds with new,
coat sea and sky with heavenlier blue,
new tint the plumage of the birds,
and slough decay from grazing herds,
sweep ruins from the scarped mountain,
cleanse the torrent at the fountain,
purge alpine air by towns defiled,
bring to fair mother fairer child,
not less renew the heart and brain,
scatter the sloth, wash out the stain,
make the aged eye sun-clear,
to parting soul bring grandeur near.
under gentle types, my spring
masks the might of nature's king.
an energy that searches thorough
from chaos to the dawning morrow;
into all our human plight,
the soul's pilgrimage and flight;
in city or in solitude,
step by step, lifts bad to good,
without halting, without rest,
lifting better up to best;
planting seeds of knowledge pure,
through earth to ripen, through heaven endure.
