Page:Poems, Emerson, 1847.djvu/91

Rh Iron arms, and iron mould,

That know not fear, fatigue, or cold.

I give my rafters to his boat,

My billets to his boiler's throat;

And I will swim the ancient sea,

To float my child to victory,

And grant to dwellers with the pine

Dominion o'er the palm and vine.

Westward I ope the forest gates,

The train along the railroad skates;

It leaves the land behind like ages past,

The foreland flows to it in river fast;

Missouri I have made a mart,

I teach Iowa Saxon art.

Who leaves the pine-tree, leaves his friend,

Unnerves his strength, invites his end.

Cut a bough from my parent stem,

And dip it in thy porcelain vase;

A little while each russet gem

Will swell and rise with wonted grace;

But when it seeks enlarged supplies,

The orphan of the forest dies.