Page:Poems, Household Edition, Emerson, 1904.djvu/41

Rh Singing at dawn on the alder bough;

I brought him home, in his nest, at even;

He sings the song, but it cheers not now,

For I did not bring home the river and sky;—

He sang to my ear,—they sang to my eye.

The delicate shells lay on the shore;

The bubbles of the latest wave

Fresh pearls to their enamel gave,

And the bellowing of the savage sea

Greeted their safe escape to me.

I wiped away the weeds and foam,

I fetched my sea-born treasures home;

But the poor, unsightly, noisome things

Had left their beauty on the shore

With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar.

The lover watched his graceful maid,

As 'mid the virgin train she strayed,

Nor knew her beauty's best attire

Was woven still by the snow-white choir.

At last she came to his hermitage,

Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage;—

The gay enchantment was undone,

A gentle wife, but fairy none.

Then I said, 'I covet truth;

Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat;

I leave it behind with the games of youth:'—

As I spoke, beneath my feet

The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath,

Running over the club-moss burrs;