The complete works of Ralph Waldo Emerson: Poems [Vol. 9]

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SONNET OF MICHEL ANGELO BUONAROTTI

NEVER did sculptor's dream unfold A form which marble doth not hold In its white block; yet it therein shall find Only the hand secure and bold Which still obeys the mind. So hide in thee, thou heavenly dame, The ill I shun, the good I claim; I alas! not well alive, Miss the aim whereto I strive. Not love, nor beauty's pride, Nor Fortune, nor thy coldness, can I chide, If, whilst within thy heart abide Both death and pity, my unequal skill Fails of the life, but draws the death and ill.

THE EXILE FROM THE PERSIAN OF KERMANI

IN Farsistan the violet spreads Its leaves to the rival sky; I ask how far is the Tigris flood, And the vine that grows thereby?

Except the amber morning wind, Not one salutes me here; There is no lover in all Bagdat To offer the exile cheer.

I know that thou, O morning wind! O'er Kernan's meadow blowest, And thou, heart-warming nightingale! My father's orchard knowest.

The merchant hath stuffs of price, And gems from the sea-washed strand, And princes offer me grace To stay in the Syrian land;

But what is gold for, but for gifts? And dark, without love, is the day; And all that I see in Bagdat Is the Tigris to float me away.

FROM HAFIZ

I SAID to heaven that glowed above, O hide yon sun-filled zone, Hide all the stars you boast; For, in the world of love And estimation true, The heaped-up harvest of the moon Is worth one barley-corn at most, The Pleiads' sheaf but two.

IF my darling should depart, And search the skies for prouder friends, God forbid my angry heart In other love should seek amends.

When the blue horizon's hoop Me a little pinches here, Instant to my grave I stoop, And go find thee in the sphere.

EPITAPH

BETHINK, poor heart, what bitter kind of jest Mad Destiny this tender stripling played; For a warm breast of maiden to his breast, She laid a slab of marble on his head.

THEY say, through patience, chalk Becomes a ruby stone; Ah, yes! but by the true heart's blood The chalk is crimson grown.

FRIENDSHIP

THOU foolish Hafiz! Say, do churls Know the worth of Oman's pearls? Give the gem which dims the moon To the noblest, or to none.1Open page

DEAREST, where thy shadow falls, Beauty sits and Music calls; Where thy form and favor come, All good creatures have their home.

ON prince or bride no diamond stone Half so gracious ever shone, As the light of enterprise Beaming from a young man's eyes.

FROM OMAR KHAYYAM

EACH spot where tulips prank their state Has drunk the life-blood of the great; The violets yon field which stain Are moles of beauties Time hath slain.

UNBAR the door, since thou the Opener art, Show me the forward way, since thou art guide, I put no faith in pilot or in chart, Since they are transient, and thou dost abide.

FROM ALI BEN ABU TALEB

HE who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare, And he who has one enemy will meet him everywhere.

ON two days it steads not to run from thy grave, The appointed, and the unappointed day; On the first, neither balm nor physician can save, Nor thee, on the second, the Universe slay.

FROM IBN JEMIN

Two things thou shalt not long for, if thou love a mind serene;— A woman to thy wife, though she were a crowned queen; And the second, borrowed money,—though the smiling lender say That he will not demand the debt until the Judgment Day.

THE FLUTE FROM HILALI

HARK what, now loud, now low, the pining flute complains, Without tongue, yellow-cheeked, full of winds that wail and sigh; Saying, Sweetheart! the old mystery remains,— If I am I; thou, thou; or thou art I?

TO THE SHAH FROM HAFIZ

THY foes to hunt, thy enviers to strike down, Poises Arcturus aloft morning and evening his spear.

TO THE SHAH FROM ENWERI

NOT in their houses stand the stars, But o'er the pinnacles of thine!

TO THE SHAH FROM ENWERI

FROM thy worth and weight the stars gravitate, And the equipoise of heaven is thy house's equipoise.

SONG OF SEYD NIMETOLLAH OF KUHISTAN

[Among the religious customs of the dervishes is an astronomical dance, in which the dervish imitates the movements of the heavenly bodies, by spinning on his own axis, whilst at the same time he revolves round the Sheikh in the centre, representing the sun; and, as he spins, he sings the Song of Seyd Nimetollah of Kuhistan.]

SPIN the ball! I reel, I burn, Nor head from foot can I discern, Nor my heart from love of mine, Nor the wine-cup from the wine. All my doing, all my leaving, Reaches not to my perceiving; Lost in whirling spheres I rove, And know only that I love.

I am seeker of the stone, Living gem of Solomon; From the shore of souls arrived, In the sea of sense I dived; But what is land, or what is wave, To me who only jewels crave? Love is the air-fed fire intense, And my heart the frankincense; As the rich aloes flames, I glow, Yet the censer cannot know. I'm all-knowing, yet unknowing; Stand not, pause not, in my going.

Ask not me, as Muftis can, To recite the Alcoran; Well I love the meaning sweet,— I tread the book beneath my feet.

Lo! the God's love blazes higher, Till all difference expire. What are Moslems? what are Giaours? All are Love's, and all are ours. I embrace the true believers, But I reck not of deceivers. Firm to Heaven my bosom clings, Heedless of inferior things; Down on earth there, underfoot, What men chatter know I not.