Page:Poems, Emerson, 1847.djvu/83

Rh He trode the implanted forest floor, whereon

The all-seeing sun for ages hath not shone;

Where feeds the moose, and walks the surly bear,

And up the tall mast runs the woodpecker.

He saw beneath dim aisles, in odorous beds,

The slight Linnæa hang its twin-born heads,

And blessed the monument of the man of flowers,

Which breathes his sweet fame through the northern bowers.

He heard, when in the grove, at intervals,

With sudden roar the aged pine-tree falls,—

One crash, the death-hymn of the perfect tree,

Declares the close of its green century.

Low lies the plant to whose creation went

Sweet influence from every element;

Whose living towers the years conspired to build,

Whose giddy top the morning loved to gild.

Through these green tents, by eldest Nature dressed,

He roamed, content alike with man and beast.

Where darkness found him he lay glad at night;

There the red morning touched him with its light.

Three moons his great heart him a hermit made,

So long he roved at will the boundless shade.