THE RHODORA 269 



And O the spring the spring ! 

 I lead the life of a king ! 

 Couch'd in the teeming grass, 

 I spy each pretty lass. 



I look where no one dares, 

 And I stare where no one stares; 

 And when the night is nigh 

 Lambs bleat my lullaby. 



THE RHODORA* 



(On Being asked, Whence is the Flower?) 



BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON 



IN MAY, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 

 I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, 

 Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 

 To please the desert and the sluggish brook. 

 The purple petals, fallen in the pool, 

 Made the black water with their beauty gay; 

 Here might the redbird come, his plumes to cool, 

 And court the flower that cheapens his array. 

 Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why 

 This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, 

 Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for 

 seeing, 



*By permission of the publishers, Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 



