Page:Poems, Emerson, 1847.djvu/118

106 'Let him heed who can and will;

Enchantment fixed me here

To stand the hurts of time, until

In mightier chant I disappear.

'If thou trowest

How the chemic eddies play,

Pole to pole, and what they say;

And that these gray crags

Not on crags are hung,

But beads are of a rosary

On prayer and music strung;

And, credulous, through the granite seeming,

Seest the smile of Reason beaming;—

Can thy style-discerning eye

The hidden-working Builder spy,

Who builds, yet makes no chips, no din,

With hammer soft as snowflake's flight;—

Knowest thou this?

O pilgrim, wandering not amiss!

Already my rocks lie light,

And soon my cone will spin.