Ralph Waldo Emerson

His soul was one with Nature everywhere;
Her seer and prophet and interpreter,
He waited in her courts for love of her,
And told the secrets that he gathered there, —
What flight the wild birds dared; why flowers were fair;
The sense of that divine, tumultuous stir
When Spring awakes, and all sweet things confer,
And youth and hope and joy are in the air.

Do the winds miss him, and the fields he knew,
And the far stars that watched him night by night,
Looking from out their steadfast dome of blue
To lead him onward with their tranquil light;
Or do they know what gates he wandered through,
What heavenly glories opened on his sight?
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