Page:Poems, Household Edition, Emerson, 1904.djvu/131

Rh Then, if I read the page aright

Where Hope, the soothsayer, reads our lot,

Thyself shalt own the page was bright,

Well that we loved, woe had we not,

When Mirth is dumb and Flattery's fled,

And mute thy music's dearest tone,

When all but Love itself is dead

And all but deathless Reason gone.

TO EVA