Ralph Waldo Emerson
The prosperous and beautiful
To me seem not to wear
The yoke of conscience masterful,
Which galls me everywhere.
I cannot shake off the god;
On my neck he makes his seat;
I look at my face in the glass,
My eyes his eye-balls meet.
Your gold makes you seem wise:
The morning mist within your grounds
More proudly rolls, more softly lies.
Yet spake yon purple mountain,
Yet said yon ancient wood,
That night or day, that love or crime
Lead all souls to the Good.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Park by Ralph Waldo Emerson )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- Poetic Sleeping Habits ~there are none, LUVinThe NOW
- Passing No Judgement, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- An odd adventure...., PARTHA SARATHI PAUL
- Falling Leaves, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Momentarily, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- The Zephyr's Army, Argentine Tango
- close, laxami Cards
- My friendly foe, Arnab Chaudhuri
- shut your dirty mouth, Mandolyn Davidson
- Rocking Chair Memories, Nicole GravellPellerino