Like Lust In The Chill Of The Grave

   
     
The men that find such beauty when it’s theirs,    
Each one expects his sum for all he owns.   
To walk and pace and call it forth by name,   
While noting of each feature like his child.  
Purveyors of the land on others’ backs,   
These owners of the gullies, woods and vales.   
The arteries that give drink to the fields,  
Of long and winding rows so straightly plowed.  
     
Corrections overseen by foreman’s hand,  
Where script allots the hedge and masonry.  
That show ahead where every tree will stand,     
No curvature of range-breaks in the way.    
Nor casting shadows of the day allowed,      
May block the sun when tender shoots resist.   
Who are these wants and bids forever scheme,   
When soon they will be added to the soil.  
They never bargain on the scythe of Death,     
As all will breathe their last, O! happy dreams.    
     
The Earth’s reply:    
EARTH-SONG      
   
“Ancient, yet    
Everlasting on;    
The stars have shown    
Upon my seas    
The skies;    
For I am witness      
Many times    
Though not have I      
Seen everything I am      
Through your eyes.    
     
“Solicitors    
And rules abide    
Succession of the wit    
And writs that cast      
In stone,    
Yet shall be thus;    
And only stone,      
Long after men    
And heirs are dust.    
      
“So understand      
And know the truth,    
That what you do      
Can ne’er replace      
The blessings of nature;    
For who I am,    
There is      
No place for me    
In your sphere;    
Nothing of me or mine    
Is yours —    
But with a grant, a nod    
I let you stay.”    
     

‘Twas when I heard the song,    
I was shivering and cold.    
Reduced to nothing more;    
A man in his prime grown old.    
     
     
     
     
#RalphWaldoEmerson