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Dirge

Rating: 3.2

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,
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Deepak Kumar Pattanayak 24 November 2014

Oh this is beauty, nostalgic in every respect, emotions outpouring....really touches my heart.....amazing piece...... thanks for sharing.......

1 1 Reply
John Richter 24 November 2014

The Master's Requiem - such an incredible ageless thought. That one's heart can not be unlocked because the key left with those loved who left before him. A shining example of why Emerson is one of the greatest poets ever. This ending completely rounds the loss of those loved so perfectly. There is no reason why we suffer such great loss, less God's will. How beautifully he phrases this ageless belief.

1 1 Reply
Aftab Alam Khursheed 24 November 2014

the poem titled DIRGE and described beautifully ended with the last word- REQUIEM - - Funeral and its ritual very nice

2 0 Reply
Cynthia Buhain-baello 24 November 2013

Excellent, brilliant images, and smooth flowing rhyme and rhythm.

4 1 Reply

I can't imagine being through such pains Of losing a dear one within my yard Lest siblings of mine in prime days Then wander along ugly paths.. Painful indeed, that Emerson is not just talking about how we are going to meet where we are to reunite, but expressing his dim, hollow heart of missing almost all, except a vague promise to meet with his lost ones again.

5 1 Reply
Savita Tyagi 24 November 2013

Long but enjoyable! Enjoyed Sidi Mahtrow's short one even more. Thanks for sharing.

3 2 Reply
Johnson Antony 24 November 2013

goooood one i just wonder hw the words and ideas coincide so aptly

3 2 Reply
Sidi Mahtrow 24 November 2012

Once we trod these virgin acres Thoughts free and pure No image of growing old Or losing that for which we were bold Now they lie moldering in the dirt Bones, bleached and white Only their memory lingers on Strong liquor does not atone For I wait to gain presence there Where we will be reunited, there is no despair. s (For those who found Emerson's poem too long.)

4 2 Reply
Cherryl Delan 24 November 2012

the gift of family, of having brothers and sisters to grow up with. i am blessed to have such.

6 2 Reply
Kevin Straw 24 November 2009

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.

4 2 Reply

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