Page:Poems, Emerson, 1847.djvu/133

Rh Yet do not I invite

The wrinkled shopman to my sounding woods,

Nor bid the unwilling senator

Ask votes of thrushes in the solitudes.

Every one to his chosen work;—

Foolish hands may mix and mar;

Wise and sure the issues are.

Round they roll till dark is light,

Sex to sex, and even to odd;—

The over-god

Who marries Right to Might,

Who peoples, unpeoples,—

He who exterminates

Races by stronger races,

Black by white faces,—

Knows to bring honey

Out of the lion;

Grafts gentlest scion

On pirate and Turk.

The Cossack eats Poland,

Like stolen fruit: