The Sage

EMERSON )

When I was young I knew a sage —
A man he was of middle age;
Clear was his mind as forest brooks,
And reams of wisdom in his looks.

But if I asked this sage-like man
Questions of wisdom in my plan,
Faintly the smile shed o'er his face,
A beam of joy, a smile of grace.

The answer that I needed bad
Ne'er reached my ear, nor gay nor sad;
" That might be so, " the sage would say,
Exactly flat as mere " Good day. "

Within his mind there seemed to be
A fixed reserve, a pleasant lea:
" Not I — I cannot mend your state, "
To Yes, to No, inveterate.

To all alike he charming was;
His words were wise in Virtue's cause;
Distinct, clear-minded — old and young
Upon his words in rapture hung.

" Come to my woods, come to my fields!
There Nature her revision yields;
These things were made to be enjoyed —
Great is the pleasure, great the reward.

" Unnumbered shine the nightly flowers,
To man the wonder of his hours;
The heavens themselves invite his gaze,
Those actors in their native plays. "

Forth went he, armed, to see the world;
Love was his weapon — joy it hurled;
Yet ne'er a word he spoke of them —
Silent, yet shining like a gem.
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