Page:Poems, Emerson, 1847.djvu/43

Rh It cannot conquer folly,

Time-and-space-conquering steam

And the light-outspeeding telegraph

Bears nothing on its beam.

The politics are base;

The letters do not cheer;

And 'tis far in the deeps of history,

The voice that speaketh clear.

Trade and the streets ensnare us,

Our bodies are weak and worn;

We plot and corrupt each other,

And we despoil the unborn.

Yet there in the parlor sits

Some figure of noble guise,—

Our angel, in a stranger's form,

Or woman's pleading eyes;

Or only a flashing sunbeam

In at the window-pane;

Or Music pours on mortals

Its beautiful disdain.