<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=480876" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Dirge</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Knows he who tills this lonely field<br>To reap its scanty corn,<br>What mystic fruit his acres yield<br>At midnight and at morn?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the long sunny afternoon,<br>The plain was full of ghosts,<br>I wandered up, I wandered down,<br>Beset by pensive hosts.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The winding Concord gleamed below,<br>Pouring as wide a flood<br>As when my brothers long ago,<br>Came with me to the wood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But they are gone,&mdash; the holy ones,<br>Who trod with me this lonely vale,<br>The strong, star-bright companions<br>Are silent, low, and pale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My good, my noble, in their prime,<br>Who made this world the feast it was,<br>Who learned with me the lore of time,<br>Who loved this dwelling-place.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They took this valley for their toy,<br>They played with it in every mood,<br>A cell for prayer, a hall for joy,<br>They treated nature as they would.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They colored the horizon round,<br>Stars flamed and faded as they bade,<br>All echoes hearkened for their sound,<br>They made the woodlands glad or mad.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I touch this flower of silken leaf<br>Which once our childhood knew<br>Its soft leaves wound me with a grief<br>Whose balsam never grew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hearken to yon pine warbler<br>Singing aloft in the tree;<br>Hearest thou, O traveller!<br>What he singeth to me? <br>Not unless God made sharp thine ear<br>With sorrow such as mine,<br>Out of that delicate lay couldst thou<br>The heavy dirge divine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Go, lonely man, it saith,<br>They loved thee from their birth,<br>Their hands were pure, and pure their faith,<br>There are no such hearts on earth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye drew one mother's milk,<br>One chamber held ye all;<br>A very tender history<br>Did in your childhood fall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye cannot unlock your heart,<br>The key is gone with them;<br>The silent organ loudest chants<br>The master's requiem.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ralph+Waldo+Emerson">Ralph Waldo Emerson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=480876" data-title="Dirge de Ralph Waldo Emerson" data-description="Knows he who tills this lonely field To reap its scanty corn, What mystic fruit his acres yield At midnight and at morn? In the long sunny afternoon, The plain was full of ghosts, I wandered up, I wandered down, Beset by pensive hosts. The windi..."></div> </div> </div>

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