RALPH WALDO EMERSON
And seeming-solid walls of use Open and flow.
Pour, Bacchus! the remembering wine;
Retrieve the loss of me and mine'
Vine for vine be antidote.
And the grape requite the lote^
Haste to cure the old despair,
Reason in Nature's Jotus drench 'd
The memory of ages quenchM
Give them again to shine;
Let wine repair what this undid;
And where the infection slid,
A dazzling memory revive;
Refresh the faded tints,
Recut the aged prints,
And write my old adventures with the pen
Which on the first day drew,
Upon the tablets blue,
The dancing Pleiads and eternal men.
��680 Brahma
IF the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he ib slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again.
Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadow and sunlight are the same; The vanish'd gods to me appear;
And one to me arc shame and fame.
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