Page:Poems, Household Edition, Emerson, 1904.djvu/354

318 Or if perchance, ye orbs of Fate,

Your ne'er averted glance

Beams with a will compassionate

On sons of time and chance,

Then clothe these hands with power

In just proportion,

Nor plant immense designs

Where equal means are none.'

CHORUS OF SPIRITS

Means, dear brother, ask them not;

Soul's desire is means enow,

Pure content is angel's lot,

Thine own theatre art thou.

Gentler far than falls the snow

In the woodwalks still and low

Fell the lesson on his heart

And woke the fear lest angels part.

POET

I see your forms with deep content,

I know that ye are excellent,

But will ye stay?

I hear the rustle of wings,

Ye meditate what to say

Ere ye go to quit me for ever and aye.