Page:Poems, Emerson, 1847.djvu/80

68 He stands in the meadows wide,—

Nor gun nor scythe to see;

With none has he to do,

And none seek him,

Nor men below,

Nor spirits dim.

Sure some god his eye enchants:

What he knows nobody wants.

In the wood he travels glad,

Without better fortune had,

Melancholy without bad.

Planter of celestial plants,

What he knows nobody wants;

What he knows he hides, not vaunts.

Knowledge this man prizes best

Seems fantastic to the rest:

Pondering shadows, colors, clouds,

Grass-buds, and caterpillar-shrouds,

Boughs on which the wild bees settle,

Tints that spot the violets' petal,

Why Nature loves the number five,

And why the star-form she repeats: