Page:May-day and other pieces, Emerson, 1867.djvu/111

Rh That wit and joy might find a tongue,

And earth grow civil, sung.

Flown to Italy from Greece,

I brooded long, and held my peace,

For I am wont to sing uncalled,

And in days of evil plight

Unlock doors of new delight;

And sometimes mankind I appalled

With a bitter horoscope,

With spasms of terror for balm of hope.

Then by better thought I lead

Bards to speak what nations need;

So I folded me in fears,

And searched the triple spheres,

Moulding nature at his will,

So shaped, so colored, swift or still,

And, sculptor-like, his large design

Etched on Alp and Apennine.