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Jun 24, 2023 · Ralph Waldo Emerson was a renowned poet and writer, and several of his poems have become well-known and widely celebrated. Some of his most famous poems include " Concord Hymn ," which he wrote to commemorate the Battle of Concord during the American Revolution, " Each and All ," a meditation on the interconnections between all things, and ...
On carpets green the maskers march. Below May’s well-appointed arch, Each star, each god; each grace amain, Every joy and virtue speed, Marching duly in her train, And fainting Nature at her need. Is made whole again. ’Twas the vintage-day of field and wood, When magic wine for bards is brewed;
Ralph Waldo Emerson—a New England preacher, essayist, lecturer, poet, and philosopher—was one of the most influential writers and thinkers of the 19th century in the United States. Emerson was also the first major American literary and intellectual figure to widely explore, write seriously about, and...
Emerson wrote “The River” in his journals in Concord, Massachusettes, in June, 1827. The poem was first published in The Complete Works (Houghton, Mifflin and Company, 1904). Mine are the night and morning, The pits of air, the gulf of space, The sportive sun, the gibbous moon, The innumerable ...
By Ralph Waldo Emerson. Bulkeley, Hunt, Willard, Hosmer, Meriam, Flint, Possessed the land which rendered to their toil. Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, apples, wool, and wood. Each of these landlords walked amidst his farm, Saying, “’Tis mine, my children’s and my name’s. How sweet the west wind sounds in my own trees!
1803 –. 1882. Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air. Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end. The sled and traveler stopped, the courier's feet. Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit.
Self-moved fly-to the doors, Nor sword of angels could reveal. What they conceal. Merlin I: Thy trivial harp will never please Or fill my craving ear; Its chords should ring as blows the breeze, Free, peremptory, clear. No jingling serenader's art, Nor tinkle of piano strings, Can make the wild blood start In its mystic springs.
