Ralph Waldo Emerson

(1803 - 1882 / Boston / United States)

My Garden - Poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson

If I could put my woods in song
And tell what's there enjoyed,
All men would to my gardens throng,
And leave the cities void.

In my plot no tulips blow,--
Snow-loving pines and oaks instead;
And rank the savage maples grow
From Spring's faint flush to Autumn red.

My garden is a forest ledge
Which older forests bound;
The banks slope down to the blue lake-edge,
Then plunge to depths profound.

Here once the Deluge ploughed,
Laid the terraces, one by one;
Ebbing later whence it flowed,
They bleach and dry in the sun.

The sowers made haste to depart,--
The wind and the birds which sowed it;
Not for fame, nor by rules of art,
Planted these, and tempests flowed it.

Waters that wash my garden-side
Play not in Nature's lawful web,
They heed not moon or solar tide,--
Five years elapse from flood to ebb.

Hither hasted, in old time, Jove,
And every god,--none did refuse;
And be sure at last came Love,
And after Love, the Muse.

Keen ears can catch a syllable,
As if one spake to another,
In the hemlocks tall, untamable,
And what the whispering grasses smother.

Æolian harps in the pine
Ring with the song of the Fates;
Infant Bacchus in the vine,--
Far distant yet his chorus waits.

Canst thou copy in verse one chime
Of the wood-bell's peal and cry,
Write in a book the morning's prime,
Or match with words that tender sky?

Wonderful verse of the gods,
Of one import, of varied tone;
They chant the bliss of their abodes
To man imprisoned in his own.

Ever the words of the gods resound;
But the porches of man's ear
Seldom in this low life's round
Are unsealed, that he may hear.

Wandering voices in the air
And murmurs in the wold
Speak what I cannot declare,
Yet cannot all withhold.

When the shadow fell on the lake,
The whirlwind in ripples wrote
Air-bells of fortune that shine and break,
And omens above thought.

But the meanings cleave to the lake,
Cannot be carried in book or urn;
Go thy ways now, come later back,
On waves and hedges still they burn.

These the fates of men forecast,
Of better men than live to-day;
If who can read them comes at last
He will spell in the sculpture,'Stay.'


Comments about My Garden by Ralph Waldo Emerson

  • Rose Marie Juan-austin (10/24/2017 9:41:00 PM)


    A magnificent poem about the beauty and power of Mother Nature. (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Ramesh T A (10/24/2017 6:23:00 AM)


    Beautiful description of woods in verse Poet Emerson kindles desires of all to live there instead of in towns indeed! What a beauriful poem to read! (Report) Reply

  • Sakalabaktula Sairaj (10/24/2017 3:50:00 AM)


    so nice poem i read it.. write more poems on Nature i like to read (Report) Reply

  • Bernard F. Asuncion (10/24/2017 1:10:00 AM)


    Such a great write by Ralph Waldo Emerson.... (Report) Reply

  • Edward Kofi Louis (10/24/2017 12:48:00 AM)


    No tulips blow! ! Thanks for sharing. (Report) Reply

Read all 5 comments »



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Read poems about / on: song, autumn, snow, spring, nature, moon, red, wind, sky, sun, city, water



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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