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Poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson


Brahma


If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.

Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadow and sunlight are the same;
The vanished gods to me appear;
And one to me are shame and fame.

They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
I am the hymn the Brahmin sings.

The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven. 



Ralph Waldo Emerson


Ralph Waldo Emerson's other poems:
  1. Alphonso of Castile
  2. To Rhea
  3. The Visit
  4. Each and All
  5. The Problem


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