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7.5
/10
(21
votes)
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Knows he who tills this lonely field
To reap its scanty corn,
What mystic fruit his acres yield
At midnight and at morn?
In the long sunny afternoon,
The plain was full of ghosts,
I wandered up, I wandered down,
Beset by pensive hosts.
The winding Concord gleamed below,
Pouring as wide a flood
As when my brothers long ago,
Came with me to the wood.
But they are gone,— the holy ones,
Who trod with me this lonely vale,
The strong, star-bright companions
Are silent, low, and pale.
My good, my noble, in their prime,
Who made this world the feast it was,
Who learned with me the lore of time,
Who loved this dwelling-place.
They took this valley for their toy,
They played with it in every mood,
A cell for prayer, a hall for joy,
They treated nature as they would.
They colored the horizon round,
Stars flamed and faded as they bade,
All echoes hearkened for their sound,
They made the woodlands glad or mad.
I touch this flower of silken leaf
Which once our childhood knew
Its soft leaves wound me with a grief
Whose balsam never grew.
Hearken to yon pine warbler
Singing aloft in the tree;
Hearest thou, O traveller!
What he singeth to me?
Not unless God made sharp thine ear
With sorrow such as mine,
Out of that delicate lay couldst thou
The heavy dirge divine.
Go, lonely man, it saith,
They loved thee from their birth,
Their hands were pure, and pure their faith,
There are no such hearts on earth.
Ye drew one mother's milk,
One chamber held ye all;
A very tender history
Did in your childhood fall.
Ye cannot unlock your heart,
The key is gone with them;
The silent organ loudest chants
The master's requiem.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Read poems about / on: childhood, lonely, history, birth, grief, flower, faith, sorrow, star, nature, tree, mother, joy, god, world, brother, wind
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Comments about this poem (Dirge
by
Ralph Waldo Emerson
) |
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comments about this poem (Dirge by
Ralph Waldo Emerson
)
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Kevin Straw
(11/24/2009 5:55:00 AM) |
This is a wonderful elegy to Emerson’s boyhood spent roaming in the countryside with his brothers now dead. It recalls for me the first verse of Wordsworth's Immortality Ode:
THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparell'd in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 5
It is not now as it hath been of yore; —
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
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Ramesh T A
(11/24/2009 1:17:00 AM) |
A long meaningful poem by Emerson in praise of plough man lonely is praiseworthy!
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Morgan Uptain
(11/24/2008 12:50:00 PM) |
Very deep. I enjoy it very much.
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surya surya
(11/24/2008 3:47:00 AM) |
Hi Ralph
I find this poem as a serious effort. Your mind seems firm on the idea. Very good poem.Congrats.
sury surya
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Krista Churchill
(11/24/2008 12:52:00 AM) |
Very long poem.. I do like it though... Thank you for sharing..
krista
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Mary Burnette
(11/24/2007 11:15:00 AM) |
As a dirge, this poem is successful. But so full of despair that its message of remembrances of things past is almost lost. I don't know nearly enough about Ralph Waldo Emerson's life to know his circumstances were when he wrote the poem, but it was depressing to me.
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Amanda Ngcobo
(11/21/2007 1:36:00 PM) |
Its to long and this poet has a similar style to Silvia Plath (I dislike her poetry to a certain extent)
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Ralph Waldo Emerson
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