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Poems Household Edition

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Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home:Thou art not my friend, and I'm not thine.Long through thy weary crowds I roam;A river-ark on the ocean brine,Long I've been tossed like the driven foam:But now, proud world! I'm going home.

Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face;To Grandeur with his wise grimace;To upstart Wealth's averted eye;To supple Office, low and high;To crowded halls, to court and street;To frozen hearts and hasting feet;To those who go, and those who come;Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home.

I am going to my own hearth-stone,Bosomed in yon green hills alone,—secret nook in a pleasant land,Whose groves the frolic fairies planned;Where arches green, the livelong day,Echo the blackbird's roundelay,And vulgar feet have never trodA spot that is sacred to thought and God.

O, when I am safe in my sylvan home,I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;And when I am stretched beneath the pines,Where the evening star so holy shines,I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,At the sophist schools and the learned clan;For what are they all, in their high conceit,When man in the bush with God may meet?


Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clownOf thee from the hill-top looking down;The heifer that lows in the upland farm,Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm;The sexton, tolling his bell at noon,Deems not that great NapoleonStops his horse, and lists with delight,Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height;Nor knowest thou what argumentThy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent.All are needed by each one;Nothing is fair or good alone.I thought the sparrow's note from heaven,Singing at dawn on the alder bough;I brought him home, in his nest, at even;He sings the song, but it cheers not now,For I did not bring home the river and sky;—He sang to my ear,—they sang to my eye.The delicate shells lay on the shore;The bubbles of the latest waveFresh pearls to their enamel gave,And the bellowing of the savage seaGreeted their safe escape to me.I wiped away the weeds and foam,I fetched my sea-born treasures home;But the poor, unsightly, noisome thingsHad left their beauty on the shoreWith the sun and the sand and the wild uproar.The lover watched his graceful maid,As 'mid the virgin train she strayed,Nor knew her beauty's best attireWas woven still by the snow-white choir.At last she came to his hermitage,Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage;—The gay enchantment was undone,A gentle wife, but fairy none.Then I said, 'I covet truth;Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat;I leave it behind with the games of youth:'—As I spoke, beneath my feetThe ground-pine curled its pretty wreath,Running over the club-moss burrs;I inhaled the violet's breath;Around me stood the oaks and firs;Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground;Over me soared the eternal sky.Full of light and of deity;Again I saw, again I heard,The rolling river, the morning bird;—Beauty through my senses stole;I yielded myself to the perfect whole....