{"id":95,"date":"2010-11-19T18:31:39","date_gmt":"2010-11-19T23:31:39","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/kuny.ca\/blogs\/?p=95"},"modified":"2010-11-19T18:31:39","modified_gmt":"2010-11-19T23:31:39","slug":"the-world-soul","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/kuny.ca\/blogs\/2010\/95\/poems\/the-world-soul\/","title":{"rendered":"The World-Soul"},"content":{"rendered":"

Ralph Waldo Emerson<\/em><\/p>\n

Thanks to the morning light,
\nThanks to the seething sea,
\nTo the uplands of New Hampshire,
\nTo the green-haired forest free;
\nThanks to each man of courage,
\nTo the maids of holy mind,
\nTo the boy with his games undaunted,
\nWho never looks behind.
\nCities of proud hotels,
\nHouses of rich and great,
\nVice nestles in your chambers,
\nBeneath your roofs of slate.
\nIt cannot conquer folly,
\nTime-and-space-conquering steam,\u2014
\nAnd the light-outspeeding telegraph
\nBears nothing on its beam.<\/p>\n

The politics are base,
\nThe letters do not cheer,
\nAnd ’tis far in the deeps of history\u2014
\nThe voice that speaketh clear.
\nTrade and the streets ensnare us,
\nOur bodies are weak and worn,
\nWe plot and corrupt each other,
\nAnd we despoil the unborn.<\/p>\n

Yet there in the parlor sits
\nSome figure of noble guise,
\nOur angel in a stranger’s form,
\nOr woman’s pleading eyes;
\nOr only a flashing sunbeam
\nIn at the window pane;
\nOr music pours on mortals
\nIts beautiful disdain.<\/p>\n

The inevitable morning
\nFinds them who in cellars be,
\nAnd be sure the all-loving Nature
\nWill smile in a factory.
\nYon ridge of purple landscape,
\nYon sky between the walls,
\nHold all the hidden wonders
\nIn scanty intervals.<\/p>\n

Alas, the sprite that haunts us
\nDeceives our rash desire,
\nIt whispers of the glorious gods,
\nAnd leaves us in the mire:
\nWe cannot learn the cipher
\nThat’s writ upon our cell,
\nStars help us by a mystery
\nWhich we could never spell.<\/p>\n

If but one hero knew it,
\nThe world would blush in flame,
\nThe sage, till he hit the secret,
\nWould hang his head for shame.
\nBut our brothers have not read it,
\nNot one has found the key,
\nAnd henceforth we are comforted,
\nWe are but such as they.<\/p>\n

Still, still the secret presses,
\nThe nearing clouds draw down,
\nThe crimson morning flames into
\nThe fopperies of the town.
\nWithin, without, the idle earth
\nStars weave eternal rings,
\nThe sun himself shines heartily,
\nAnd shares the joy he brings.<\/p>\n

And what if trade sow cities
\nLike shells along the shore,
\nAnd thatch with towns the prairie broad
\nWith railways ironed o’er;\u2014
\nThey are but sailing foambells
\nAlong Thought’s causing stream,
\nAnd take their shape and Sun-color
\nFrom him that sends the dream.<\/p>\n

For destiny does not like
\nTo yield to men the helm,
\nAnd shoots his thought by hidden nerves
\nThroughout the solid realm.
\nThe patient D\u00e6mon sits
\nWith roses and a shroud,
\nHe has his way, and deals his gifts\u2014
\nBut ours is not allowed.<\/p>\n

He is no churl or trifler,
\nAnd his viceroy is none,
\nLove-without-weakness,
\nOf genius sire and son;
\nAnd his will is not thwarted,\u2014
\nThe seeds of land and sea
\nAre the atoms of his body bright,
\nAnd his behest obey.<\/p>\n

He serveth the servant,
\nThe brave he loves amain,
\nHe kills the cripple and the sick,
\nAnd straight begins again;
\nFor gods delight in gods,
\nAnd thrust the weak aside;
\nTo him who scorns their charities,
\nTheir arms fly open wide.<\/p>\n

When the old world is sterile,
\nAnd the ages are effete,
\nHe will from wrecks and sediment
\nThe fairer world complete.
\nHe forbids to despair,
\nHis cheeks mantle with mirth,
\nAnd the unimagined good of men
\nIs yeaning at the birth.<\/p>\n

Spring still makes spring in the mind,
\nWhen sixty years are told;
\nLove wakes anew this throbbing heart,
\nAnd we are never old.
\nOver the winter glaciers,
\nI see the summer glow,
\nAnd through the wild-piled snowdrift
\nThe warm rose buds below<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Ralph Waldo Emerson Thanks to the morning light, Thanks to the seething sea, To the uplands of New Hampshire, To the green-haired forest free; Thanks to each man of courage, To the maids of holy mind, To the boy with his games undaunted, Who never looks behind. Cities of proud hotels, Houses of rich and […]<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-95","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poems","category-4-id","post-seq-1","post-parity-odd","meta-position-corners","fix"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/kuny.ca\/blogs\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/95","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/kuny.ca\/blogs\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/kuny.ca\/blogs\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/kuny.ca\/blogs\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/kuny.ca\/blogs\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=95"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/kuny.ca\/blogs\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/95\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":96,"href":"http:\/\/kuny.ca\/blogs\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/95\/revisions\/96"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/kuny.ca\/blogs\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=95"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/kuny.ca\/blogs\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=95"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/kuny.ca\/blogs\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=95"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}