Page:Poems, Emerson, 1847.djvu/172

160 Heralds high before him run;

He has ushers many a one;

He spreads his welcome where he goes,

And touches all things with his rose.

All things wait for and divine him,—

How shall I dare to malign him,

Or accuse the god of sport?

I must end my true report,

Painting him from head to foot,

In as far as I took note,

Trusting well the matchless power

Of this young-eyed emperor

Will clear his fame from every cloud,

With the bards and with the crowd.

He is wilful, mutable,

Shy, untamed, inscrutable,

Swifter-fashioned than the fairies,

Substance mixed of pure contraries;

His vice some elder virtue's token,

And his good is evil-spoken.