Page:Poems, Household Edition, Emerson, 1904.djvu/157

Rh With the cannonade of wars;

With the marches of the brave;

And prayers of might from martyrs' cave.

Great is the art,

Great be the manners, of the bard.

He shall not his brain encumber

With the coil of rhythm and number;

But, leaving rule and pale forethought,

He shall aye climb

For his rhyme.

Pass in, pass in,' the angels say,

In to the upper doors,

Nor count compartments of the floors,

But mount to paradise

By the stairway of surprise.'

Blameless master of the games,

King of sport that never shames,

He shall daily joy dispense

Hid in song's sweet influence.

Forms more cheerly live and go,

What time the subtle mind

Sings aloud the tune whereto

Their pulses beat,

And march their feet,

And their members are combined.

By Sybarites beguiled,

He shall no task decline;