Flow, flow the waves hated,

Accursed, adored,

The waves of mutation;

No anchorage is.

Sleep is not, death is not;

Who seem to die live.

House you were born in,

Friends of your spring-time,

Old man and young maid,

Day’s toil and its guerdon,

They are all vanishing,

Fleeing to fables,

Cannot be moored.

See the stars through them,

Through treacherous marbles

Know the stars yonder,

The stars everlasting,

Are fugitive also,

And emulate, vaulted,

The lambent heat lightning

And fire-fly’s flight.

When thou dost return

On the waves circulation,

Behold the shimmer,

The wild dissipation,

And, out of endeavor

To change and flow,

The gas become solid,

And phantoms and nothings

Return to be things,

And endless imbroglio

Is law and the world, —

Than first shalt thou know,

That in the wild turmoil,

Horsed on the Proteus,

Thou ridest to power,

And to endurance.

-R.W. Emerson

~ by Scott Hamilton Peters on December 1, 2008.

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