Page:May-day and other pieces, Emerson, 1867.djvu/134

122 At this pinch, wee San Salvador!

What fire burns in that little chest

So frolic, stout, and self-possest?

Henceforth I wear no stripe but thine;

Ashes and jet all hues outshine.

Why are not diamonds black and gray,

To ape thy dare-devil array?

And I affirm, the spacious North

Exists to draw thy virtue forth.

I think no virtue goes with size;

The reason of all cowardice

Is, that men are overgrown,

And, to be valiant, must come down

To the titmouse dimension.'

'Tis good-will makes intelligence,

And I began to catch the sense

Of my bird's song: 'Live out of doors

In the great woods, on prairie floors.