To Emerson
‘Some thoughts always find us young and keep us so’
I
The world’s affairs devour the soul with devilish haste,
Ensuring us our daily bread and an ounce of gold –
Nothing that a dying man may call his own.
Your spirit’s claims are surely more impertinent:
You learned to bless and chose the noblest sentiments,
Endearing you to gods, to shine upon your name.
II
I often try to trace your surer step on winding
Tracks through woods, and fill my wooden bowl
With water from effulgent springs. I smell the fruits
Of your thought ripen next to pines and plovers,
Hear tales of great men reared by prouder mothers and
Conspiring chance. I even fancy your pretty Ellen
And Lydian’s kids fondly bringing those wild flowers
You love to name, invoking life preserved in musty
Bookshelves.
I cherish your wholesome oaken grace and gather
Acorns in the afternoon as a loving, wayward son.
