Page:Poems, Household Edition, Emerson, 1904.djvu/382

346 The mottled clouds, like scraps of wool,

Steeped in the light are beautiful.

What majestic stillness broods

Over these colored solitudes.

Sleeps the vast East in pleasèd peace,

Up the far mountain walls the streams increase

Inundating the heaven

With spouting streams and waves of light

Which round the floating isles unite:—

See the world below

Baptized with the pure element,

A clear and glorious firmament

Touched with life by every beam.

I share the good with every flower,

I drink the nectar of the hour:—

This is not the ancient earth

Whereof old chronicles relate

The tragic tales of crime and fate;

But rather, like its beads of dew

And dew-bent violets, fresh and new,

An exhalation of the time.

NIGHT IN JUNE

my dreary page and sallied forth,

Received the fair inscriptions of the night;