# Poems (Emerson, Household Edition, 1904)/Fragments on the Poet and the Poetic Gift

* "There are beggars in Iran and Araby"
* "Pale genius roves alone"
* "I grieve that better souls than mine"
* "For thought, and not praise"
* "For Fancy's gift"
* "Try the might the Muse affords"
* "But over all his crowning grace"
* "By thoughts I lead"
* "And as the light divides the dark"
* "I framed his tongue to music"
* "For every God"
* "For art, for music over-thrilled"
* "Hold of the Maker, not the Made"
* "That book is good"
* "Like vaulters in a circus round"
* "For Genius made his cabin wide"
* "The atom displaces all atoms beside"
* "To transmute crime to wisdom, so to stem"
* "He could condense cerulean ether"
* "Forbore the ant-hill, shunned to tread"
* "I have no brothers and no peers"
* "The brook sings on, but sings in vain"
* "He planted where the deluge ploughed"
* "For what need I of book or priest"
* "Coin the day-dawn into lines"
* "Ah, not to me those dreams belong!"
* "The Muse's hill by Fear is guarded"
* "His instant thought a poet spoke"
* "If bright the sun, he tarries"
* "The Asmodean feat is mine"
* "Slighted Minerva's learnèd tongue"
FRAGMENTS ON THE POET AND THE POETIC GIFT
I
There are beggars in Iran and Araby, Said was hungrier than all; Hafiz said he was a fly That came to every festival. He came a pilgrim to the Mosque On trail of camel and caravan, Knew every temple and kiosk Out from Mecca to Ispahan; ​Northward he went to the snowy hills, At court he sat in the grave Divan. His music was the south-wind's sigh, His lamp, the maiden's downcast eye, And ever the spell of beauty came And turned the drowsy world to flame. By lake and stream and gleaming hall And modest copse and the forest tall, Where'er he went, the magic guide Kept its place by the poet's side. Said melted the days like cups of pearl, Served high and low, the lord and the churl, Loved harebells nodding on a rock, A cabin hung with curling smoke, Ring of axe or hum of wheel Or gleam which use can paint on steel, And huts and tents; nor loved he less Stately lords in palaces, Princely women hard to please, Fenced by form and ceremony, Decked by courtly rites and dress And etiquette of gentilesse. But when the mate of the snow and wind, He left each civil scale behind: Him wood-gods fed with honey wild And of his memory beguiled. He loved to watch and wake When the wing of the south-wind whipt the lake And the glassy surface in ripples brake ​And fled in pretty frowns away Like the flitting boreal lights, Rippling roses in northern nights, Or like the thrill of Æolian strings In which the sudden wind-god rings. In caves and hollow trees he crept And near the wolf and panther slept. He came to the green ocean's brim And saw the wheeling sea-birds skim, Summer and winter, o'er the wave, Like creatures of a skiey mould, Impassible to heat or cold. He stood before the tumbling main With joy too tense for sober brain; He shared the life of the element, The tie of blood and home was rent: As if in him the welkin walked, The winds took flesh, the mountains talked, And he the bard, a crystal soul Sphered and concentric with the whole.
II
The Dervish whined to Said, "Thou didst not tarry while I prayed. Beware the fire that Eblis burned." But Saadi coldly thus returned, "Once with manlike love and fear I gave thee for an hour my ear, I kept the sun and stars at bay, ​And love, for words thy tongue could say. I cannot sell my heaven again For all that rattles in thy brain."
III
Said Saadi, "When I stood before Hassan the camel-driver's door, I scorned the fame of Timour brave; Timour, to Hassan, was a slave. In every glance of Hassan's eye I read great years of victory, And I, who cower mean and small In the frequent interval When wisdom not with me resides, Worship Toil's wisdom that abides. I shunned his eyes, that faithful man's, I shunned the toiling Hassan's glance."
IV
The civil world will much forgive To bards who from its maxims live, But if, grown bold, the poet dare Bend his practice to his prayer And following his mighty heart Shame the times and live apart,— Væ solis! I found this, That of goods I could not miss If I fell within the line, Once a member, all was mine, ​Houses, banquets, gardens, fountains, Fortune's delectable mountains; But if I would walk alone, Was neither cloak nor crumb my own. And thus the high Muse treated me, Directly never greeted me, But when she spread her dearest spells, Feigned to speak to some one else. I was free to overhear, Or I might at will forbear; Yet mark me well, that idle word Thus at random overheard Was the symphony of spheres, And proverb of a thousand years, The light wherewith all planets shone, The livery all events put on, It fell in rain, it grew in grain, It put on flesh in friendly form, Frowned in my foe and growled in storm, It spoke in Tullius Cicero, In Milton and in Angelo: I travelled and found it at Rome; Eastward it filled all Heathendom And it lay on my hearth when I came home.
V
Mask thy wisdom with delight, Toy with the bow, yet hit the white, ​As Jelaleddin old and gray; He seemed to bask, to dream and play Without remoter hope or fear Than still to entertain his ear And pass the burning summer-time In the palm-grove with a rhyme; Heedless that each cunning word Tribes and ages overheard: Those idle catches told the laws Holding Nature to her cause.
God only knew how Saadi dined; Roses he ate, and drank the wind; He freelier breathed beside the pine, In cities he was low and mean; The mountain waters washed him clean And by the sea-waves he was strong; He heard their medicinal song, Asked no physician but the wave, No palace but his sea-beat cave.
Saadi held the Muse in awe, She was his mistress and his law; A twelvemonth he could silence hold, Nor ran to speak till she him told; He felt the flame, the fanning wings, Nor offered words till they were things, Glad when the solid mountain swims In music and uplifting hymns.
​Charmed from fagot and from steel, Harvests grew upon his tongue, Past and future must reveal All their heart when Saadi sung; Sun and moon must fall amain Like sower's seeds into his brain, There quickened to be born again.
The free winds told him what they knew, Discoursed of fortune as they blew; Omens and signs that filled the air To him authentic witness bare; The birds brought auguries on their wings, And carolled undeceiving things Him to beckon, him to warn; Well might then the poet scorn To learn of scribe or courier Things writ in vaster character; And on his mind at dawn of day Soft shadows of the evening lay.
Pale genius roves alone, No scout can track his way, None credits him till he have shown His diamonds to the day.
​Not his the feaster's wine, Nor land, nor gold, nor power, By want and pain God screeneth him Till his elected hour.
Go, speed the stars of Thought On to their shining goals:— The sower scatters broad his seed, The wheat thou strew'st be souls.
I grieve that better souls than mine Docile read my measured line: High destined youths and holy maids Hallow these my orchard shades; Environ me and me baptize With light that streams from gracious eyes. I dare not be beloved and known, I ungrateful, I alone.
Ever find me dim regards, Love of ladies, love of bards, Marked forbearance, compliments, Tokens of benevolence. What then, can I love myself? Fame is profitless as pelf, A good in Nature not allowed They love me, as I love a cloud Sailing falsely in the sphere, Hated mist if it come near.
For thought, and not praise; Thought is the wages For which I sell days, Will gladly sell ages And willing grow old Deaf, and dumb, and blind, and cold, Melting matter into dreams, Panoramas which I saw And whatever glows or seems Into substance, into Law.
For Fancy's gift Can mountains lift; The Muse can knit What is past, what is done, With the web that 's just begun; Making free with time and size, Dwindles here, there magnifies, Swells a rain-drop to a tun; So to repeat No word or feat Crowds in a day the sum of ages, And blushing Love outwits the sages.
Try the might the Muse affords And the balm of thoughtful words; Bring music to the desolate; Hang roses on the stony fate.
But over all his crowning grace, Wherefor thanks God his daily praise, Is the purging of his eye To see the people of the sky: From blue mount and headland dim Friendly hands stretch forth to him, Him they beckon, him advise Of heavenlier prosperities And a more excelling grace And a truer bosom-glow Than the wine-fed feasters know. They turn his heart from lovely maids, And make the darlings of the earth Swainish, coarse and nothing worth: Teach him gladly to postpone Pleasures to another stage Beyond the scope of human age, Freely as task at eve undone Waits unblamed to-morrow's sun.
By thoughts I lead Bards to say what nations need; What imports, what irks and what behooves, Framed afar as Fates and Loves.
And as the light divides the dark Through with living swords, So shall thou pierce the distant age With adamantine words.
I framed his tongue to music, I armed his hand with skill, I moulded his face to beauty And his heart the throne of Will.
For every God Obeys the hymn, obeys the ode.
For art, for music over-thrilled, The wine-cup shakes, the wine is spilled.
Hold of the Maker, not the Made; Sit with the Cause, or grim or glad.
That book is good Which puts me in a working mood. Unless to Thought is added Will, Apollo is an imbecile. What parts, what gems, what colors shine,— Ah, but I miss the grand design.
Like vaulters in a circus round Who leap from horse to horse, but never touch the ground.
For Genius made his cabin wide, And Love led Gods therein to bide.
The atom displaces all atoms beside, And Genius unspheres all souls that abide.
To transmute crime to wisdom, so to stem The vice of Japhet by the thought of Shem.
He could condense cerulean ether Into the very best sole-leather.
Forbore the ant-hill, shunned to tread, In mercy, on one little head.
I have no brothers and no peers, And the dearest interferes: When I would spend a lonely day, Sun and moon are in my way.
The brook sings on, but sings in vain Wanting the echo in my brain.
He planted where the deluge ploughed, His hired hands were wind and cloud; His eyes detect the Gods concealed In the hummock of the field.
For what need I of book or priest, Or sibyl from the mummied East, When every star is Bethlehem star? I count as many as there are Cinquefoils or violets in the grass, So many saints and saviors, So many high behaviors Salute the bard who is alive And only sees what he doth give.
Coin the day-dawn into lines In which its proper splendor shines; Coin the moonlight into verse Which all its marvel shall rehearse,
Chasing with words fast-flowing things; nor try To plant thy shrivelled pedantry On the shoulders of the sky.
Ah, not to me those dreams belong! A better voice peals through my song.
The Muse's hill by Fear is guarded, A bolder foot is still rewarded.
His instant thought a poet spoke, And filled the age his fame; An inch of ground the lightning strook But lit the sky with flame.
If bright the sun, he tarries, All day his song is heard; And when he goes he carries No more baggage than a bird.
The Asmodean feat is mine, To spin my sand-heap into twine.
Slighted Minerva's learnèd tongue, But leaped with joy when on the wind The shell of Clio rung.