Ralph Waldo Emerson

Poems

AND when I am entombèd in my place, Be it remembered of a single man, He never, though he dearly loved his race, For fear of human eyes swerved from his plan. OH what is Heaven but the fellowship Of minds that each can stand against the world By its own meek and incorruptible will? THE days pass over me And I am still the same; The aroma of my life is gone With the flower with which it came.

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