Page:Poems, Household Edition, Emerson, 1904.djvu/101

Rh Honey from the frozen land;

With cloverheads the swamp adorn,

Change the running sand to corn;

For wolf and fox, bring lowing herds,

And for cold mosses, cream and curds:

Weave wood to canisters and mats;

Drain sweet maple juice in vats.

No bird is safe that cuts the air

From their rifle or their snare;

No fish, in river or in lake,

But their long hands it thence will take;

Whilst the country's flinty face,

Like wax, their fashioning skill betrays,

To fill the hollows, sink the hills,

Bridge gulfs, drain swamps, build dams and mills,

And fit the bleak and howling waste

For homes of virtue, sense and taste.

The World-soul knows his own affair,

Forelooking, when he would prepare

For the next ages, men of mould

Well embodied, well ensouled,

He cools the present's fiery glow,

Sets the life-pulse strong but slow:

Bitter winds and fasts austere

His quarantines and grottoes, where

He slowly cures decrepit flesh,

And brings it infantile and fresh.

Toil and tempest are the toys

And games to breathe his stalwart boys: