Page:Poems, Household Edition, Emerson, 1904.djvu/214

178 What cared we for costly joys,

The Museum's far-fetched toys?

Gleam of sunshine on the wall

Poured a deeper cheer than all

The revels of the Carnival.

We a pine-grove did prefer

To a marble theatre,

Could with gods on mallows dine,

Nor cared for spices or for wine.

Wreaths of mist and rainbow spanned,

Arch on arch, the grimmest land;

Whistle of a woodland bird

Made the pulses dance,

Note of horn in valleys heard

Filled the region with romance.

None can tell how sweet,

How virtuous, the morning air;

Every accent vibrates well;

Not alone the wood-bird's call,

Or shouting boys that chase their ball,

Pass the height of minstrel skill,

But the ploughman's thoughtless cry,

Lowing oxen, sheep that bleat,

And the joiner's hammer-beat,

Softened are above their will,

Take tones from groves they wandered through

Or flutes which passing angels blew.

All grating discords melt,