Page:Poems, Household Edition, Emerson, 1904.djvu/439

Rh I, Alphonso, live and learn, 25. I am not poor but I am proud, 380. I am not wiser for my age, 295. I am the Muse who sung alway, 220. I bear in youth and sad infirmities, 381. I cannot spare water or wine, 28. I do not count the hours I spend, 249. I framed his tongue to music, 330. I grieve that better souls than mine, 327. I have an arrow that will find its mark, 376. I have no brothers and no peers, 332. I have trod this path a hundred times, 368. I heard or seemed to hear the chiding Sea, 242. I hung my verses in the wind, 220. I left my dreary page and sallied forth, 346. I like a church; I like a cowl, 6. I love thy music, mellow bell, 379. I mourn upon this battle-field, 261. I rake no coffined clay, nor publish wide, 382. I reached the middle of the mount, 145. I said to heaven that glowed above, 299. I see all human wits, 296. I serve you not, if you I follow, 82. If bright the sun, he tarries, 334. If curses be the wage of love, 358. If I could put my woods in song, 229. If my darling should depart, 300. If the red slayer think he slays, 195. Ill fits the abstemious Muse a crown to weave, 398. Illusions like the tints of pearl, 348. Illusion works impenetrable, 348. In an age of fops and toys, 207. In countless upward-striving waves, 283. In Farsistan the violet spreads, 298. In many forms we try, 359. In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 37. In my garden three ways meet, 370. In the chamber, on the stairs, 350. In the deep heart of man a poet dwells, 372. In the suburb, in the town, 284. In the turbulent beauty, 361. In Walden wood the chickadee, 342. It fell in the ancient periods, 13. It is time to be old, 251.

Knows he who tills this lonely field, 363.

Let me go where'er I will, 365. Let Webster's lofty face, 398. Like vaulters in a circus round, 331. Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown, 4. Long I followed happy guides, 85. Love asks nought his brother cannot give, 353. Love on his errand bound to go, 295. Love scatters oil, 96. Low and mournful be the strain, 205.

Man was made of social earth, 109. Many things the garden shows, 343. May be true what I had heard, 41. Mine and yours, 36. Mine are the night and morning, 244. Mortal mixed of middle clay, 33.

Nature centres into balls, 282. Never did sculptor's dream unfold, 298. Night-dreams trace on Memory's wall, 295. No fate, save by the victim's fault, is low, 349. Not in their houses stand the stars, 303.